


Through Horus Eyes

by HydrangeaPartridge



Series: Egyptian AU [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Egypt, Ancient Egypt, Drama, Egyptian AU, Fluff, M/M, Minor Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss/Ymir, Oral Sex, PrinceJean!, Romance, SlaveMarco!, a bit of action, a bit of mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-03-03 08:46:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 128,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2845010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HydrangeaPartridge/pseuds/HydrangeaPartridge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco Bodt was living a peaceful Shepherd's life with his family, but after a succession of misfortunes, he lost his freedom and ended up serving under the tyranny of Jean, the young prince of Egypt.</p><p>Jean was a spoiled brat, but there was also more to him than the eye could see. It would take Marco a lot of patience and kindness to discover it.</p><p>Egyptian AU inspired by tumblr cackingjackal’s drawings</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cursed by Isfet

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this project for months and now I finally post the first chapter. Merry christmas everyone!!
> 
> This is an egyptian AU inspired by [cacklingjackal's egyptian AU](http://cacklingjackal.tumblr.com/tagged/egyptian!au). I love egypt and I couldn't resist writing about Jean shirtless and covered with jewels.
> 
> I hope you will enjoy your reading.

A shiver ran down the young man's back as he pulled his knees closer to his chest. The floor he was sitting on was hard and cold and wet, the dampness slowly soaking his simple tunic. Tears threatened to escape the boy's brown eyes, one succeeding and rolling along a freckled cheek.  
The cell was so dark it was impossible to tell which time of the day it was. Not a single ray of sun or moon managed to break through the thick walls of stone.

One could wonder why was Marco Bodt, a lively and kind shepherd, chained to that stone wall, the metal of the cuff on his ankle biting and burning his tanned freckled skin?

To answer this question, let Nut, goddess of the sky and stars, guide us a few days ago, to another place, another time, when Marco Bodt was still a free man.

–------------------

The morning sun was shining pleasantly over the rocky plain, its rays not hot enough to scorch the earth like it would coming the flooding season. A warm breeze skimmed through the land and the white fluffy coats of the sheep grazing there. The adults were peacefully eating, pulling out the grass from between the white rocks with ease while the youngsters cavorted around their parents.

Watching over the flock was a young man dressed in a blue tunic and armed with a long wooden staff only. His sandal-clad feet were carrying him with an assured walk between the grazing animals.  
He suddenly stopped, his chocolate brown eyes narrowing as he spotted light pink colored flowers near the head of one of his sheep. Marco quickly got to his knees, pulling up the plant by its root. He knew better than to be fooled by the sweet scent of the pink blossoms and the pretty dark green of the leathery leaves of the oleander. This plant was highly toxic, every part of it, his dad had taught him so. And even though most of the sheep didn't try to feed on it, he couldn't risk one accidentally eating a bit of it.

After getting up from his crouched position with the help of his staff, Marco started gathering together the scattered sheep. The sun was almost up in the sky and he didn't want to worry his mom by being late for lunch.

He started to walk, the flock gently following him with a chorus of bleats.

–------------------

The Bodt's house wasn't a house strictly speaking, it was more of a big tent, colorful fabrics sewed together, supported by wooden pillars and held together by ropes. But to Marco it was still home, for home, to nomadic people like them, wasn't just a place; it was wherever the family lived.

Marco penned the sheep inside the makeshift enclosure flanking his house before he walked home, pushing aside the hangings forming the door.

He was greeted by the nice scent of stew and the warm smile of his mother who was busy breast feeding his baby sister Abby. Marco got his freckles and his dark hair from her, but when Marco's hair was straight, his mother's was sporting pretty curls. She also had bright blue eyes that were passed on to her daughter. However, the rare blond hair scattered over the scalp of the little Abby came with no doubt from his late father.

Jacob Bodt had left this world for the other a little less than a year ago, swept away by a pack of wolves while he tried to protect the flock. It was miles away from here but it also seemed like it was a yesterday that occurred a life time ago.  
Marco missed his father. He was an admirable man with a vast knowledge of the world. He had taught him all he knew about the weather, the plants, the seasons and he even taught him how to read and write, a privilege few shepherd had.  
The death of Jacob had been brutal and extremely painful for the Bodt family. It had left the newly born Abby fatherless and the young Marco to take the role of the man of the house. He did his best at this job but he knew he wasn't the man his father was. He was often uncertain, scared and weak. He didn't have the build of a man, still that of a boy, full of naive mistakes and involuntary carelessness.  
But still, his mother trusted him with the flock. She encouraged him and loved him, always smiling, never complaining, even thought she was obviously exhausted from taking care of the house and his baby sister alone. She was strong. Strong enough to not wallow in sorrow. Marco wished he could help her more.

Sarah Bodt had gotten up from her chair, holding a babbling Abby securely in her arms. She lay Abby down into her cradle before going over to the fire in the middle of the house to check on the stew. When she seemed satisfied with the state of mixture in the cooking pot, she walked over to Marco, raising her small hands to hold his cheeks between them.

“Happy birthday my son” She whispered softly

Today was the sixteenth day of the sixth month, and it was eighteen years ago that Marco's life in this world began.  
His mother kissed his cheek before she turned her back to him saying she had to get his present.

“You really didn't have to get me anything” Marco sighed. He knew they didn't have much, barely enough to eat, so they couldn't allow themselves any luxuries.

His mother dismissed his words with a wave of her hand, her back still turned to Marco. She retrieved something from the heavy wooden chest that belong to his father and came back to her son.

“I wish I could have gotten you so much more” Sarah breathed, visibly holding back some tears as she quickly looked to the cooking pot and then back to Marco.  
He understood his mother's thoughts; a year ago everything had been different. His last birthday had been like every birthday they used to celebrate: festive, with books as presents and a feast for diner. It was when his father was still with them.  
It wasn't the festivities that Marco missed; he knew that even if they had the money, their hearts still wouldn't be in a party mood.  
However, Sarah's smile didn't leave her as she handed him a small necklace composed of a thin string and in the center, for pendant, a pale beige stone. Marco carefully took the piece of jewelery in his hand and then gave his mother a questioning look.

Sarah's eyes softened, filling with fondness and nostalgia.

“Your father gave this necklace to me when we were younger. It's a moonstone, it protects the loved ones.” She explained, her pointer finger coming to gently stroke the gem in the center of the necklace resting on Marco's open palm. “I think you should have it” She added, her voice trembling a little.

Marco didn't say a thing. He just hold the gem close to his heart and hugged his mother tightly.

–------------------

The sun was slowly setting behind the mountains, its orange rays splashing color on the sheep's immaculate coats. Marco was sitting on a small rock, relaxing, his staff forgotten on the floor. He was gently twiddling with he string his new necklace.

Marco had been really moved by this present. He knew how much it meant to his mother and just thinking about it made his heart swell in his chest. But his reveries were interrupted by the high pitched bleat of one of the lambs. Looking around to find the source of the noise, the young shepherd spotted the small lamb standing on a steep rock above some kind of crevice cracking the hard ground. He didn't know how it got there, but judging by the way the animal's small form quivered as he looked down the hole in front of it, it didn't know how to get back to the rest of the flock.

Marco sighed and headed toward the poor lamb. He carefully stood in front of the crevice and stretched his arms in an attempt to catch the little devil. Sadly his arms weren't long enough and the lamb didn't seem to want to jump into Marco's embrace The brunette ran a hand through his dark locks; he had no other choice but to try standing closer to the edge of the crevice. He moved his feet a few inches so that only his heels were still on the concrete, his toes curling against the stones forming the very edge of the crevice. Marco then reached out to the lamb again. He was only able to touch its soft down with the end of his fingertips but the small animal seemed more ready to jump. 

Marco made small cooing noises, clicking his tongue and whispering praises to the white little creature, slowly coaxing it into jumping. The lamb stepped back a little, putting its weight onto its small posterior members, getting ready to jump. However, to Marco's surprise, the lamb's aim wasn't his arms or his chest but his back, just between his shoulder blades. The sudden, even though fleeting, weight made Marco loose his balance, his feet slipping. His first reflex when he felt himself fall was to try holding onto the rock where the lamb had been standing but he only succeeded in scratching the pale stone with his finger nails while the little lamb landed safely on the other side of the crevice.

The short fall took an eternity. Marco's mind was racing, yet useless. They say when you're about to die you see your life flash in front of your eyes, but the only things he saw were his mother and his sister's faces.

–------------------

When Marco opened his eyes, everything was pitch black. Panic filled him, the absence of light making him feel insecure and lost. His breath quickened, and cold sweat ran down his spine. His hands clenched and unclenched in a frenzy, his nails scratching the dusty ground. Marco's body was numb, but after a few tries, he succeeded in moving his legs. A wave of relief filled him. At least he was still alive and seemed miraculously unarmed, except for a few cuts and bruises. He then realized it wasn't entirely black out there. His eyes had had time to accommodate to the night and he could see the stars in the sky.

The sight appeased him.

The brunette took a deep breath as he tried to find all the constellations his father had showed him, their familiar forms steadying his panic-stricken heart. Ursa major was there, as always, unfaltering, twinkling with ardour. Marco then spotted the majestic sphinx forming the constellation of the lion.  
When he felt calm enough, he studied his surroundings. He went gropingly to find the edges of the crevice. His heart sank into his chest when he found out the stones were perfectly smooth, giving no possibilities to climb up. Panic filled him again; he couldn't escape.  
Should he try calling for help? Was his mother looking for him, alone in the dark of the night? Where the sheep okay? And suddenly Marco's brain was assaulted with a last question:

Were there wolves out there?

He was sure his lungs, his heart and all his other organs had stopped functioning. He was frozen on the spot by fear, terrible images assaulting his vision: his mother, his sister, his father being devoured by ferocious wolves with glowing blood red eyes. He looked up to the sky again, looking for more constellations, needing their distant comfort.

Suddenly, he heard voices, followed by the faint glow of what could be a torch. Marco started functioning again and he shout himself hoarse. His throat was dry and it hurt but he didn't care, he kept calling out for help. His shouts where finally heard as torches came closer and three silhouettes came in sight a the edge of the crevice. 

Then a rope was thrown Marco's way. As he grabbed it Marco could already feel his mother's warm arms around him, her sweet scent in his nostrils. He hoped she wasn't too worried. He hoped she was safe.

Climbing up was difficult, there were no bumps for Marco to put his feet and the general darkness added to Marco's sore body weren't helping. But the crevice wasn't that deep and soon strong arms were pulling him up and back onto the concrete.

Catching his breath, the brunette looked up, ready to smile and say thank you. But his words got stuck into his throat as he met the faces of his saviors, lit only by the steady flames of torched. They were looking at him with cold eyes, checking him out from head to toes before muttering something between themselves. Before he had the presence of mind to run, the three strangers had jumped on him, one pulling his arms behind his back while another tied his hands together with a rope. The other one stayed in front of him shoving a piece of stained white fabric into his mouth and knotting it painfully tight at the back of his head.

Marco's blood turned cold when he realized who this men were: slave merchants. 

Tears formed at the corner of his eyes. It was too much: the fall and then this. He didn't deserve this, it was so unfair. He bitterly wished he was still down in the crevice.  
Marco tried to struggle but against three grown man and in the state that the fall had leaved him in, he didn't stand a chance. He knew it and it was so frustrating, that he was only a few miles from home and yet couldn't get back there, couldn't get back to his family.

His family.

What if these men asked him if he lived alone? What if they found his house, his sister, his mother? The thought made Marco's head spin and sickness contort his stomach. And it's resigned to his fate, to protect his family, that he obediently started walking when one of the men roughly slammed a hand against his back.

–------------------

The desert's sand was burning the sole of Marco's feet. His worn out sandals had been discarded a day ago. His abductors had tied his hands to the saddle of a camel with a long rope. They had been traveling like this for days, barely stopping to rest at night. The three merchants were taking turns riding the camel while Marco had to walk, taking breaks only when the men were giving water to their mount. During those breaks they only gave Marco the water the animal didn't drink.  
The brunette didn't even know where he found the strength to keep walking. His legs were trembling and weak and his posture was curved under the blazing sun. Sweat was trickling down his eyebrows, stinging his eyes and also down his back, making the thin fabric of his torn tunic cling to his skin.

Marco hadn't eaten for days and he was sure he was going to die in this desert. He couldn't even cry anymore, he was too dehydrated and too sad.  
However, it seemed his hour hadn't come yet when after he made one last effort to reach the top of the dune they had been climbing for what seemed like hours, he saw it. A myriad of immaculate marble edifices and an immense river with calm turquoise water. He had seen drawings and read books about this place but he never dreamed to visit this beautiful country: Egypt. He only wished he had visited in other circumstances, in better company.

As they made their way through the streets Marco didn't know where to look. He had never traveled to such a big city. He studied the imposing buildings, most of them erected in honor of various gods, all half human-half animal. He was gaping before the finely detailed lion and ox heads atop the high pillars lining the path he was currently walking.  
And then there was the majestic Nile, lined with perennial reeds. Its waters were still, only the light breeze allowing the small boats to advance. Marco had never seen anything as beautiful as this scenery.

But his wonder was short lived as they reached what was obviously the slave market. The crowds of Egyptians in loincloths made place to chained up men. When Marco only had his hands tied together, some other slaves were restrained by metal collars or heavy wooden yokes.  
One of the three merchants untied him from the camel and led him by the rope to a small makeshift desk. His two other abductors were actively discussing something with a man dressed all in white and coiffed with a white cloth folded triangularly.  
Before he knew it, a wooden plate with numbers written on it was placed around his neck, its weight making Marco bow down his head.  
But the white clad man didn't pull away after giving Marco his price plate. He had spotted the thin thread resting against Marco's tan collarbones and snatched away the gem that was hidden beneath his clothes, hanging close to his heart. The man gave him a nasty look and grinned before pocketing the moonstone. Bared of his last possession, Marco didn't have the opportunity to say or do anything. He was powerless and it is with a broken heart that he let himself be led onto the stage where he was going to be sold for a few silver coins.

 

After standing on the creaking wooden stage for hours and being looked from every angle, his teeth examined, his muscles felt, Marco was finally bought to serve in Pharaoh's palace as a domestic slave. At least it is what the man currently leading him onwards had explained him. Said man couldn't be called kind, but unlike the men that had brought him here and unlike the salesman at the slave market he didn't give him superior looks and treated him with more respect. It was hard to explain, but this young bald man wasn't making him feel like a merchandise; it was the first time in days that he felt like a proper human being. It was a bit comforting. Maybe he had an ounce of luck in his misfortune.

The bald man brought him to a small empty room opened to the outside and Marco gave a content sigh at the coolness of the air. The shade was welcome when he had been under the burning sun rays all day.  
The bald man exited the room for a few seconds before reappearing with a bucket of water and a bunch of clothes. He put them on the floor and then walked back to Marco. He pulled out a knife, making Marco wince and carefully untied his hands.

“Use this to clean yourself” The deep voice of the man pointing to the bucket startled Marco. “I'll be waiting outside. When you're finished we'll dress you more appropriately. You can't serve Pharaoh in these rags”. He then went out again.

Marco stayed glued to the spot for a few seconds. He had trouble processing what was happening to him. He was tired and hungry and filthy. He wanted to go home but he knew he couldn't. So he did what he was told. Moreover, the prospect of cleaning his sweat drenched body wasn't inopportune.  
But just when Marco reached out to pick up the bucket, he saw a someone pass by the front of the room's entrance, stopping dead in his tracks and looking him straight in the eyes. It was a young man, probably around his age. He was a bit shorter and also thinner than Marco and had a fairer, golden skin. His hair was two toned, with a sandy color on the top and a darker shade underneath. His curious tawny gaze was was burning holes into Marco and the brunette suddenly felt very exposed. 

The stranger's expression turned from baffled to confident in a second and his lips curled up in a mischievous grin, his eyes blazing with fire as he started walking closer. His walk was confident, his head held high. He wore a wrapped around white skirt, stopping mid thigh and lined with golden threads. His chest was bare, except for a large stiff necklace made of gold and rows of precious looking blue and green stones; the blue ones probably the famous lapis-lazuli Marco had once read about and the green ones, slightly less precious turquoise stones. Matching bracelets adorned his thin wrists and heavy golden earrings dressed his ears.  
When the stranger stopped just in front of him, his arms crossed in front of his chest, Marco realized his eyelids were topped with a long elegant black line of make up. It made his gaze even more surreal and Marco averted his own, looking at his feet. He didn't know why but this man was making him feel uncomfortable.  
The stranger then started slowly walking around Marco in a tight circle, like a feline around its prey. At first the looks Marco was given were only curious ones, but soon the brunette could feel the stranger's body's heat radiating as well as his tawny gaze checking him out. Having someone enter his personal space when he felt so weak and vulnerable made Marco tense and he tried to make himself as small as possible, still looking at his feet, his weight shifting from one to the other. He almost jumped, letting out a small shriek when the stranger let out a breathy “Not bad”. Marco was almost sure he was currently staring at his bottom. Heat rose to his cheeks as the bare feet of the stranger came to a halt in front of his own. He felt like a mere merchandise, like cattle being inspected for diseases or defects. 

Saying Marco was uncomfortable was an understatement. What could this man possibly want from him?  
He wished someone would come in, anyone, just to relieve him of the tense suffocating atmosphere.  
An unpleasant shiver ran down Marco's spine when the stranger roughly cupped his chin between his thumb and pointer finger, forcing him to look up and meet deep blazing eyes. The stranger's smirk widened.

“You're kind of cute. I like the freckles, it's exotic.” 

His hands were soft. Marco was going to be sick.  
The comment made Marco realize he wasn't even seen as cattle. He was considered less than that; not even a living creature, but a mere object. The stranger was too close, too deep in his personal space. He had obviously no respect for a slave's feelings or needs. But still, how dare he touch him like that?  
Actually, Marco also wondered how he could let himself be touched like that too. His hands had been freed from their restraints and yet he still felt like invisible strings were attached on him, preventing him from pushing the stranger away, leaving him to suffer this treatment. Were those invisible ties the result of his enslavement?

For days he had obediently followed, powerless, scared; he had been treated like nothing and he started realizing just now that it had broken down his willpower, his desire to fight back. He was tired, exhausted and sad: his strength and courage had disappeared, caged deep inside him, not only by the lack of sleep and food, but also by his sudden loss of freedom. They had put a price on him, they had sold him like lifeless meat and the psychological wound it created was enough to make the bravest mind believe that it was no longer free. He was an object, a tool and he should expect to be treated as such.  
Marco's eyes were staring past the stranger, unfocused. It felt like his mind was slowly disconnecting from his body, blocking out all sensations, becoming spectator more than actor. 

“I'll make sure to praise the Head of the Guard for his tastes in slaves” The stranger absentmindedly commented as he kept inspecting Marco's face.

His gaze wasn't as intense as before, turning more curious with each passing second. He looked like a child discovering a new toy. The hand on Marco's chin was removed and his head fell down, looking at his feet yet again. He wished the man would leave him alone soon.  
But the stranger seemed to have decided otherwise and a finger not so gently came poking the brunette's cheek.

“Those are really pretty”

There was awe in the stranger's voice and Marco realized he was getting fixated on his freckles.  
The brunette winced when the stranger poked another freckle, idly tracing a path between the dark spot and the next one close to it with an amused smile on his thin lips. The man's touch wasn't harsh, it was surprisingly gentle, like he was enjoying himself exploring the galaxy on Marco's cheeks. But it was still unpleasant and unwanted. Tawny eyes were burning, watching him in a weird kind of awe, seeming almost amazed. But Marco was getting annoyed pretty quickly. He didn't want to be touched, and whoever this Egyptian was, he didn't have any rights over him. He had to protest. He may not be free anymore, might not be able to go home, but that didn't mean he couldn't fight. And after a second thought, the stranger didn't seem that threatening; not an obstacle he couldn't overcome.

It was too much at once; he had to rebel, he had to do something.

Marco shut his eyes tightly, until he saw little squares of color. The movement was rewarded by a deep amused chuckle from the prince that resonated unpleasantly in Marco's ears.  
He wasn't a toy.  
This wasn't him loosing himself because he had been snatched away from home. It just wasn't like him to give up, not after all the hardships he had already overcome.  
Something snapped inside him. The bars of a cage broke deep down, unleashing what he thought was lost. It wasn't over, there was always something he could do. He could still be himself. Not a mere slave; he had to be Marco again, to find him inside of the empty shell he had become.

He could fight against his fate; the stars weren't unchanging. And mostly, he could fight against this unpolite man.

Marco had never been the violent type and he wasn't used to fighting. But mustering all the strength left in his aching muscles by his exhausting travel, and gathering the courage to stand for himself, he slapped the man's hand away. 

“Don't touch me!” He weakly squeaked, voice coming hoarse from his dry throat. It was the first words he uttered in the few last days and it felt strange hearing himself talk. But it was relieving, giving him the certainty that he wasn't an object. 

In his rush and adrenaline strike, he hit the stranger right in the nose with the back of his hand, an unwanted gesture.  
A painful cry was heard and the force of the blow made the man, step back a few inches, his many jewels jingling noisily as his hands held onto his hurt nose.  
Marco solidly planted his feet into the ground, leaning forward, ready to fight.

However, the biting words or the attack he expected never came. 

The man stood still in the middle of the poorly lit room, one hand tentatively touching his nose. He winced and a look of horror reached his eyes when he spotted the red liquid staining his fingertips. His face contorted and his body started shaking badly. His face was obviously pale, his mouth was opening and closing needlessly and his chest was heaving with his rapid breathing. Marco was positive he was going to faint.

He suddenly felt bad for this man, he seemed terrorized and panicked, lost like an animal in agony or a man that had seen a ghost. He felt bad for letting a human being suffer like this, even after what he had done to him. But Marco knew he could use this chance to escape.

And he should have.

Half a dozen of Egyptian soldiers armed with spears started filling the small room before Marco had time to make a run for it. Their gaze quickly fell on the man with a bloody nose, their looks quickly turning worried.

“My prince are you alright? What happened?” One guard asked as he rushed to rushed to stranger's side, taking a hold of his arm. 

_Prince?_

When they saw the blood on the man's nose, the guards did the math and in a few seconds Marco was on his knees, hands held behind his back and sharp blades dangerously close to his throat. He was only able to catch sight of tawny eyes rolling upwards, the stranger loosing consciousness, and he didn't have time to realize it was the prince he had hurt before he was hit by the blunt end of a spear and everything turned black.

 

–--------------------

 

When he opened his eyes, Marco was lying on his stomach, darkness surrounding him. His head hurt, a dull throbbing filling his eardrums. His body felt numb, his limbs weak, barely able to hold him when he got up on his hands and knees. His arms soon gave up under him and he fell down face first into the dusty ground. Marco realized there was a weight on his left ankle, restricting his movements. He experimentally pulled at the chain to discover it was solidly attached to the stone wall behind him.

A breathy sigh escaped Marco's lips. It was so dark and he felt so miserable. He normally would have been alarmed by his physical condition and the disturbing absence of light, but he didn't have the strength to panic anymore.  
Fragments of the event that unfolded a few hours ago (or more, he had no way to know how long he had been out) started poking the edges of Marco's mind. Connecting the dots, it was pretty obvious that his current captivity had something to do with him headbutting the Prince of Egypt in the nose...  
The brunette kind of regretted his actions, for hurting people wasn't in his habits; and mostly because it was what had put him in this cold and gloomy dungeon. Still, even if he was the prince, that man deserved it; it was self defense.

Marco wondered if he was going to be judged by for his acts or if he was just going to rot in this humid cell until he died of thirst and hunger, completely forgotten. The brunette's heart sank at the thought that he might never see the sun again. He avoided thinking about his mother and sister but it was a lost cause. Marco hoped they were alright with all his heart. He missed them so much.

The young boy sat up, careful not to hurt his chained ankle in the process, and held his knees close to his chest, burying his face into them. He let tears of exhaustion wet his freckled cheeks. It was like the turmoil of emotions of the previous days suddenly submerged him, threatening to drown him. Still, he let the sadness flow, violent sobs raking his spent body. He felt miserable, but also a bit better at the same time. After all, letting it all out was probably the best way to avoid getting mad with anger and sorrow.

“Um...”  
The quiet clearing of a throat made Marco's head shot up as his heart started thundering into his chest.

“Are you okay?” 

The voice was deep, yet gentle and laced with concern. Marco never noticed he wasn't alone in this awful dungeon. He suddenly felt a bit embarrassed for crying in front of a stranger.

“I'm sorry I startled you. It... It wasn't my intention”

Marco's vision was slowly adjusting to the darkness, allowing him to spot the man currently talking to him. He was sitting against the wall to Marco's right side, his knees also drawn to his chest, curled up as if trying to make himself as small as possible, which was difficult when he was probably the tallest man Marco ever met. His limbs were so long he would without a doubt have to bend to be able to fit standing up under the low ceiling of the dungeon.

“M-my name is Bertholdt.” The tall man continued, accompanied by the clinking of his own chains, betraying his nervous shifting.

“I'm Marco” 

The brunette's voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat, embarrassed by how he just sounded. He was glad that the darkness of the place was hiding his blushing cheeks.

“May I ask how you ended up down there Marco?”

He couldn't see Bertholdt's face, but Marco was sure he was smiling. He seemed like an alright man. Marco knew he often was too trusting of strangers, which was, along bad luck one of the reasons he ended up being enslaved, but Bertholdt was in the same boat as him so he decided to tell him his story; all of his story, from the beginning.

Bertholdt listened in silence, sometimes giving a few encouraging noises to keep Marco going. Sharing his misadventures with someone else was even more relieving than Marco initially thought. It was like dividing the dead weight that crushed his shoulders, making it easier to breath again.  
Bertholdt was sympathetic but didn't pity him. It was refreshing to talk to someone who understood his situation, who was his equal.

“You're kind of unlucky, though, after all you've been through, falling on Jean”

Marco didn't really understand what Bertholdt meant. “Jean?” But he new that saying he was “unlucky” was probably an understatement. His lucky star must have taken a sudden vacation.

“What do you mean?”

Bertholdt took a deep breath. It was clear he wasn't comfortable with talking about this. Still, he explained himself.

“Jean, the prince, is kind of a spoiled child. He always gets what he wants and takes what he desires without asking” He paused, searching for the right words “And sometimes what he wants is people. He doesn't treat slaves well. To him were are like mere objects, lacking feelings...”

Marco felt his cheeks heat up with offense. How could someone be so uncaring and ignorant of other people? He had been right, to the prince he was just an object, a fleeting distraction, a mere toy. The thought of someone treating people so lowly was both infuriating and depressing. Marco felt a lump form in his throat, his stomach turning. He needed to change the subject.

“A-and you? How did you end up here?”

When Bertholdt let out a little squeak, Marco immediately regretted his question. He lowered his head and sighed but finally decided to answer. After all, Marco had told him his story so it was only a fair exchange.

“I spilled wine on Pharaoh” He blurted out, hiding his face into his open palms in shame. “I was supposed to refill his glass but... but my hands were shaking and I ended up spilling it all over him”

Marco had to repress the urge to giggle, the light feeling of amusement foreign to his exhausted body. He didn't want to mock the poor Bertholdt but he expected something so much more serious than this. However, judging by Bertholdt's reaction, it was a pretty serious matter. The Pharaoh was the most respected being in all of Egypt, a sovereign closer to god than to man, keeper of harmony and peace. Even Marco who wasn't Egyptian knew it, but it didn't mean this man had to be cruel, rather, in Marco's eyes should he be merciful.

“I'm lucky they didn't sentence me to death. That's what the high priest wanted you know.” Bertholdt took a few short breaths, breaking his state of apnea caused by his quick talking before he continued “But Pharaoh is so much better than him, he is so merciful.”

Imprisonment for spilling wine was far from Marco's definition of merciful, but the softness of Bertholdt's last words moved him. Bertholdt must really respect his sovereign, and seeing how he appreciated his new acquaintance, Marco wanted to believe that Pharaoh was indeed a good man. Probably better than his son.  
The brunette dismissed the thought of tawny eyes and focused on his next question.

“Who is the high priest?”

In the obscurity Marco saw Bertholdt blink, the faint light coming from his eyes disappearing before coming back.

“Well, Priest Nick is the High Priest of Amun, chief priest of the gods and personal adviser of Pharaoh.” He explained “He is the most powerful man in Egypt after Phara-”

Bertholdt was interrupted when the heavy wooden door of the dungeon opened in a screech, the fire of a torch bathing the damp place in its warm orange light. A guard stood into the door-frame, the torch in one hand and a spear in the other. He looked to Bertholdt and then to Marco with cold hard eyes.

“Both of you are coming with me.” He stated, getting the keys hanging from his hip.

His words gave Marco a brief surge of happiness. Then he realized what awaited him outside the dark stillness of the dungeon wasn't necessarily positive; it was uncertain and thus unsettling. The guard wasn't freeing him, for at best (he didn't dare imagining the worst), he was still going to serve Pharaoh as a slave.  
After his hindrances were removed, Marco stood up. His stomach was tense but he relaxed a bit when he saw that he was right, Bertholdt had to bend slightly to fit under the ceiling.  
So it's together with the awkwardly walking giant that he stepped into the light of an unknown future.


	2. Working for Amun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter to begin this new year!
> 
> Marco gets used to his new life, new characters are introduced... Enjoy!

They say when you hit the bottom, things can only get better. For Marco Bodt, snatched away from his family, enslaved, sold and then imprisoned after being molested by a prince his age, it was thankfully kind of true.  
The guard had led him and Bertholdt out of the dungeons and into the front open courtyard of Pharaoh's palace. The place was breathtaking. The courtyard was bound by tall marble arches lined with huge palm trees. In the center stood a large squared pound filled with clear transparent water that didn't hide to the eye the beautiful blue mosaic decorating its bottom. Numerous plants and flowers added touches of color to this majestic space where birds of all species came to rest, bathing into the small ornate fountains standing in the corners of the courtyard. And most surprising thing was the multitude of sacred ibis peacefully strolling around, always close to the water and unafraid of men. It was the first time Marco saw such birds from so close. The feathers of their wings were immaculate, contrasting deeply with the dark ones of their head. The glint in their clever eyes and their elegant walk gave away their association with Thoth, god of science and knowledge, keeper of the universe.

Marco's attention was brought back to the guard leading them when his deep voice disturbed the magic of the courtyard.

“You two are lucky, Pharaoh decided you can go back to work.” The guard's eyes sharpened, his obsidian gaze only made darker by the make up on his eyelids. “Next time you probably won't be this lucky, so if you cherish you lives, keep your heads low and obey the orders.”

Bertholdt let out a relieved sigh, his shoulders relaxing while Marco wondered anxiously what kind of work he was going to be assigned. They both jumped when the guard let out a booming “You!” while tilting his chin towards the tallest one of them.

“Y-yes” came the weak trembling voice of Bertholdt

“Take care of the newbie. Get him cleaned and dressed so he is presentable. From now on he will work in the kitchens with you.” The guard didn't avert his gaze from Bertholdt's forest green eyes when he added “And keep an eye on him, he is your responsibility.”

And with that, he was gone.

Bertholdt gulped but then turned to Marco, giving him a faint smile. The brunette smiled back. He had just heard the first good news of his new Egyptian life.

\-----------

Bertholdt was without a doubt a quiet person. He didn't make a sound for all the walk leading from the courtyard to the slave quarters. But Marco didn't mind. It was a comfortable silence which he was almost grateful for, since it gave him time to admire the impressive decoration of the palace's insides. There were statues of marble and gold representing animals and gods around each corner, and Marco revised the rudiments of Egyptian mythology he had while examining them.

When they reached their destination, the large room made of dark rough wood and not smooth immaculate marble that was the slaves quarters, Bertholdt gave Marco a bucket and cloth to wash himself. The coolness of the clear water on his clammy skin was a delight. He took his time, thoroughly scrubbing himself as if to wash away the events of the previous days; especially the touch of pale hands that rested obstinately at the edges of his mind, entrenched there. Bertholdt didn't urge him, patiently waiting, his back turned to Marco's naked body.

After he was satisfied with his cleanliness, the brunette left the bucket now filled with brownish water and took the plain wrapped around white skirt; the only item of clothing that Bertholdt had given him prior (and he had called it, what again? Ah yes, a shendyt) and secured it tightly around his hips. It was the first time Marco wore something so short. The fabric of the skirt stopped mid thigh when his usual tunic at least covered his knees, for it was designed to protect its owner from the burning rays of the sun. He also knew he would need some time to get used to everyone seeing him shirtless. It was a bit embarassing. He tried not to make too much of it.

“Are you done?” Bertholdt asked gently

Marco turned back to him, nodding. The taller man ushered him towards a small cabinet where he retrieved a small pot filled with black ink and a pencil. But instead of getting a papyrus sheet to write, he came closer to Marco, ordering him to stay still and close his eyes.

“This is kohl, it is made from galena. It will keep dust and dirt from getting into your eyes.” Bertholdt explained while working on marking Marco's eyes. 

He then stepped back with a quiet “done” when he was finished. Marco wanted to see how the make up made him look, but sadly there weren't any mirrors or any clean water in the room. He would have to wait for that.

\-----------

Marco quickly got used to working in the kitchens, and it was especially thanks to Bertholdt who was, under all his shyness and uncertainty, an excellent professor. He assimilated the kitchen's hierarchy quickly; who could serve at Pharaoh's table and who couldn't, who could cook and who was restricted to the washing up only. It wasn't hard for him, Marco had always been a fast and eager learner. He just loved to discover new things and since his father died he had never been so intellectually stimulated. It was satisfying.  
The work in the kitchen kept his mind and hands occupied. He felt useful and he even got promoted to be part of the cooking team with Bertholdt on the first day, when he offered his help to the sous chef with sorting out the herbs he knew by heart from so many excursions with the flock back home.  
Still, when the night came, he couldn't find sleep before the pale light of the morning sun bathed the slave quarters. Of course, late at night he thought of his mother and sister; what they were doing, if they were alright with no man home. Were they still looking for him or had they started grieving him?  
It was often that Marco cried, muffling his sobs into his clenched fist, Nephthys, goddess of the night being his only witness.  
Even if he hadn't been haunted by dreams of his family being ripped apart by packs of gigantic red-eyed wolves, Marco wasn't sure he would have been able to sleep anyway. Indeed, the slave quarters were made of a succession of small wooden alcoves, one for each slave, filled only with a board made of the same wood and designed to be a bed. In fact, it was more of a bench than a bed. Marco's long legs could only fit bent on his own makeshift bed and there were no blankets or cushions to make the cold Egyptian nights more comfortable for the hard working slaves. After a few restless nights there, the brunette wondered if what made his back hurt so much was his work or his sleeping arrangements.

However, there was one thing that sometimes cheered him up in the dead of night. It was an unexpected distraction taking place in the alcove just opposite his own, where Bertholdt was currently fast asleep, his head on the hard wooden board, but his legs on the floor, his feet under his bed, hips completely twisted in a painful looking pose.  
It wasn't Bertholdt's most spectacular sleeping position, but to Marco, it was still funny to watch. It wasn't a surprise Bertholdt would have to twist and bend himself to fit in his small bed, but still, he had the most curious sleeping patterns and it was a miracle how he never woke up, even when ending up upside down, his head resting on the cold hard floor, and drool escaping his lips. But the most surprising thing was that he didn't wake up the man sharing his already ridiculously small bed.  
Marco had met Reiner a few days ago and unbelievably, this tall muscular blond man and the giant that was Bertholdt shared an alcove to sleep. The brunette still pondered what was the most impressive: how they managed to fall asleep tangled into each other or how the old wood board they used as bed could hold the weight of those two huge grown up men.

Reiner worked in the quarries, excavating the rocks and minerals under the burning sun so the Egyptians could build their houses or make their jewelry. It was probably the hardest job a slave could come by, judging by Reiner's state of exhaustion in the evening and the angry red whip scars splitting his back.  
Reiner and Bertholdt were always sticking together when they weren't working, but they still welcomed Marco's company. They were always nice to him, showing him around and giving him precious advice. The two men were really close, always seeming to understand each other without needing to talk; just with a look or a touch.  
Marco knew boys could love other boys, he had heard about it, but from where he came from, it wasn't that really well viewed. To make a family, to have descendents, to raise children you needed a man and a woman, it seemed pretty obvious. In Marco's opinion, loving someone the same sex wasn't bad. True it was a bit unusual, but what mattered to him was that people were happy.  
He didn't know if Reiner and Bertholdt were lovers or just really good friends, but he could see like the nose in the middle of the face that they loved each other. He could see it was what kept them happy in this place and it was the only important thing. However, the other slaves didn't seem to think the same way, for they never talked to Reiner and Bertholdt, often sending them nasty looks that Reiner always countered with a huge grin.  
Looking once more to the tangle of limbs in the bed opposite him, Marco smiled. He then turned his back to the softly snoring couple and tried to get some much needed sleep.

\-----------

The lack of sleep was starting to weight on Marco's eyelids as he peeled his umpteenth scallion. His eyes had stopped watering a few ones ago, his mucous membrane getting used to the irritating substances in the vegetable. But he was sure he was looking terrible, his eyes tired, red and his kohl smeared everywhere on his face from excessive rubbing of his eyelids.  
After he finished peeling his last scallion, he cut them all in small cubes, wiping his forehead with his forearm when he was done. He put his knife down and started rubbing his eyes with his fingertips, an unwise decision since he didn't take time to wash his hands first, onion juice still covering them. Marco cursed under his breath at the stinging in his eyes and got up, trying blindly to find some water.

Just when he was finished cleaning his eyes and hands with the water found in a nearby bucket, the brunette heard the sound of the kitchen door. It was probably Bertholdt, coming back with the milk they needed to prepare the dinner's dessert. Marco turned back, opening his mouth to greet his friend.   
His movement stopped short when his gaze met blazing tawny eyes instead of forest green ones. Marco's mouth stayed wide opened, his limbs paralyzed like he had just turned into stone and he just stared at the prince who was also frozen on his spot, stopped in the middle of the kitchen's doorstep he just passed.  
Icy panic started filling the brunette, turning his blood cold in anticipation, images of the events that unfolded days ago rushing back to his mind. But Marco's anxiety started fading away even before it reached its peak when he saw the equal fear in the bright eyes of the young heir. He realized the prince wasn't displaying the same confidence he had during their first meeting. He looked unhealthily paler and on the watch, like he was facing a potential threat. Given his reaction upon seeing him, Marco was sure the prince remembered him, so he guessed he was afraid he would hit him again. And he would, if need arose. Still, he'd rather not, for he wasn't keen on a new stay in the dungeons.   
Since none of the two boys decided to move nor look away first, they faced a dead end, staring intently at each other for what seemed like hours. 

It was the arrival of a very confused as well as out of breath Bertholdt that broke the spell between them. Marco lowered his head and quickly returned to his scallions, not sparing another glance to the prince, just like nothing happened.

The prince stayed glued on his spot, his mouth opening and closing into the air, eyebrows drawn together.  
He only regained his composure when Bertholdt asked him if he needed anything in his most polite and soft voice.

“Yes.” The prince answered, straightening his back, making his numerous jewelery sing “I won't attend tonight's dinner, so have someone bring a plate of fruits to my room later.”

“But my prince, what will your father say?” Bertholdt asked, alarmed

“I don't care what my father says!” The prince raised his voice dangerously “You'll do as I order and that's it” he snapped before storming away.

Bertholdt wined and looked to Marco from over his shoulder.

“I told you he did as he pleased”

\-----------

There was one time of the day that Marco really appreciated, one time were he could relax and rest from the work in the kitchens as well as the promiscuity of the dorms. This glorious break was offered to all the slaves between the end of Pharaoh's dinner and curfew. Those few hours gave Marco the privacy he craved; it was the closest he ever got to being completely free.  
So today, like every other day, he had taken refuge in the palace's library.  
The huge circular room was his sanctuary, there was never anyone there in these late hours; most slaves didn't know how to read, and the courtiers were busy partying or already getting ready to sleep. Like every other room in the palace, the library was outstanding. Shelves filled with books and papyrus climbed up from the floor to the beautifully ornate ceiling; so high that ladders were needed to reach some of the old manuscripts.  
Marco was currently absorbed into the map of Egypt he had just found, tracing the thinly drawn line representing the Nile with his pointer finger in the dim light of a tallow candle. It had taken him a few days to find the maps into the ocean of numerous works filling the large room.

The brunette had learned from Bertoldt that the town hosting Pharaoh's palace, the town he had been brought to by the slave merchants, was Waset, a famous Egyptian town that Marco had heard of before under the name of Thebes. Thebes was, like every big Egyptian city, situated on the fertile east bank of the Nile. But it was farther away from the seas than Marco expected, deep into the lands of the powerful Upper Egypt. The brunette sighed as he measured with his fingers the space between his current location and the estimated location of his home. He wasn't sure of the exact distance, but what he was certain of was that his home was really far away, even on the small scale of the map, both places were long apart. Of course he had expected it to be so, after all his abductors and himself had crossed deserts and walked for days to reach Thebes. But seeing it clearly on paper made the distance between him and his family tangible; much more real. Even if he attempted to escape (with a high risk of getting caught and then lashed or worst, killed), there was no way he could go home on his own. It was just impossible.  
Marco's heart sank in his chest, his thoughts wandering to his family, preventing him from hearing the sound of the door opening.

“What are you doing here slave?”

The deep venomous voice startled Marco, making him turn back in haste, his hands behind his back tightly gripping the edges of the desk he was reading on. The man in front of him was tall. Really tall, obviously taller than Berholdt, which was something. Apart from his intimidating tallness, the man had shaven dark hair and cold steel eyes lined with wrinkles, betraying his age. He was wearing a long white robe that was on the floor when he walked. Moreover, his plain robes were topped with the full fur of a leopard; the immobile head of the majestic animal resting in the middle of his chest, eyes thankfully closed and his shoulders were draped with the wild beast's forelegs, its huge paws hanging from his back, lifeless.   
Marco had never seen a real leopard. He had only ever seen these felines in drawings. The speckled coat was truly beautiful, but seeing it on the priest's shoulders was sending shivers down his spine. The man was obviously a high priest. The brunette learned enough about the egyptian culture he admired to know that the leopard skin was a symbol of Seshat, goddess of writing and wisdom who was always depicted in a leopard skin. Wearing the robe symbolized the defeat of the evil god Set and it reserved for high ranking priests only. But how could one be so proud of killing an animal that they used its fur for looks and not only for staying warm?  
Seeing the man's looks and attitude, Marco could only guess he was probably priest Nick, the high priest of Amun Bertholdt told him about back in the dungeons. 

“It is way past curfew, you are not allowed here.”

Contempt was laced into the acidic tone of the priest, making Marco's skin crawl. The brunette hadn't realized the hour was this late. Giving a quick look to one of the library's windows, he saw that the sun had indeed set, Rê's solar boat already gone, giving place to the starry veil of the night. 

“Sorry sir” Marco started, his voice shaking a bit under the superior gaze of his interlocutor “I was so absorbed into my reading that I lost the notion of time.”

The man scoffed in disdain “A slave? Reading? Don't mock me young man, you were probably trying to steal from his majesty! You slaves are all the same, just a bunch of ungrateful liars. Is this how you thank Pharaoh for giving you work and shelter?”

Marco endured the storm of words that crashed down on him, flabbergasted. Never in his life had he been called a liar. It sting. It sting to be underestimated like this. It sting to be treated so inferiorly in the only sanctuary he had found himself.   
Even though he was hurt, Marco knew better than to be brash. He bottled up his feelings, lowering his gaze and staying quiet.

“Get back to the slave quarters now.” The priest spat “And if you cherish your miserable life, I better not spot you in here again this late.”

That night, the walk back to the slave quarters, where only nightmares and insomnia awaited Marco, was more bitter than ever.

\-----------

The following day, it was with an unusual frown that Marco was kneading the bread dough destined to be part of Pharaoh's meal. He was so lost in his thoughts, kneading with an unnecessary assiduousness, that he didn't hear Bertholdt calling out to him. It was only when the taller man gently touched his shoulder asking if he was alright that Marco stopped battering the dough.

The brunette sighed, staying silent. Today he felt frustrated. He could even say he was angry. He still hadn't gotten over the way the priest had been treating him in the library the previous night. After he had done his best to adapt to the life in the palace, just when he started enjoying his new job, trying to see the brighter sides of his situation, he had to be reminded he was meant to serve pompous rich Egyptians that treated him worst than the dirt under their sandals for the rest of his life.   
And to make things worst, the previous day's encounter with the prince had brought back unpleasant memories that clung to his dreams all night, the burning color of black contoured eyes haunting him.

Bertholdt smiled softly at Marco's silence, patting his shoulder lightly.

“If blowing out steam on the poor dough happens to not be enough, you can always try telling me what's bothering you.”

Marco was glad he met Bertholdt. His presence was reassuring and he was a good listener; always comprehensive and never judging. That is the reason why the brunette decided to tell him about the event that unfolded in the library.  
The other slave was quick to confirm Marco's assumptions that he had indeed ran into Priest Nick, High Priest of Amun.   
Amun was the king of gods and god of wind, the patron deity of Thebes and part of the Theban Triad, alongside his consort Mut, queen of the goddesses and lady of heaven and their son Khonsu, god of the moon. No wonder priest Nick was a powerful man; the cult of Amun was professed by a very old dynasty of priests, older than the current Pharaoh's lineage, making the high priest of Amun's decisions hardly controversial, even by Pharaoh, especially if it concerned a religious matter.   
Bertholdt had already told him countless times how much this man despised slaves. He was feared not by slaves only, but also by most of the courtiers living in the palace, who avoided him like the plague. 

Of course Bertholdt advised him not to torture his mind with the priest's words, for it wasn't worth it. And of course that's what Marco had failed to do for the whole night...  
But still, talking about it made the brunette feel better. 

“Don't let it get to you Marco” Bertholdt soothed his pensive friend “If it can make it better, I'll teach you were not to be to avoid priest Nick. I doesn't work every time, but I once avoided bumping into him for a week!” He exclaimed proudly.

Marco smiled and nodded in agreement. Yeah, he was definitely glad he met Bertholdt.  
However, the sudden sound of footsteps cut their conversation short. Both boys fell silent, afraid their conversation about the high priest would fall into the wrong ears. The last thing they wanted was a new stay in the dungeon.

Marco's heart skipped a beat when he spotted a mass of two toned hair behind the high earthenware jars used to store different type of cereals. The brunette looked down quickly, suddenly very concentrated on maltreating once more the innocent dough resting under his fingers.

The prince finally came into sight, his tawny gaze falling on the freckled slave, staring at him in silence for long seconds, an indescribable expression passing into his burning eyes. He then looked to Bertholdt, muttering he was just here to take a snack while he determinately walked to the small jar filled with dates resting on one of the kitchen counters. The royal heir took a few sweet fruit in his hand and slowly popped one into his mouth, chewing it with zeal, his gaze unfocused but clearly directed to Marco.  
Bertholdt kept curious green eyes on the prince while his shorter friend put all his might into ignoring the newcomer, absorbed into his kneading, cheeks flushed from his work or from something else.  
The awkward atmosphere continued as the prince ate another date, and then again another one. When he finished chewing on his fifth date, the prince left without a word.  
Bertholdt let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and Marco stopped touching the dough that was now too flabby to be good.

“Well this was strange, the prince usually never puts a foot in the kitchen, and now he comes here two days in a row!” Bertholdt remarked, letting out a nervous little laugh in hopes to lighten the heavy atmosphere.  
He clearly saw Marco's mood had dropped again; his head held low and his shoulders slumped, and he couldn't help but wonder: why didn't Jean ask a random slave to bring him his dates?

Bertholdt's surprise didn't stop there, for the prince kept turning up into the kitchen every other day of the following week, his sudden date cravings sometimes bringing him twice a day. It was always the same ritual. First he entered the large room, looking for Marco with blazing eyes, then, when he found him, he set onto savouring his favourite brown fruits, the fire in his gaze cooling, satisfied. Strangely, on the rare days the young freckled slave happened to be missing from the kitchens, the prince's stays were considerably shortened.

At first the young heir visited at rush hours; just before dinner or lunch, when the kitchen was buzzing like a beehive, steam filling the hot air, making it hard to breath. However he quickly stopped, deciding to come back at calmer hours, when the curious or even contemptuous stares of the many slaves were gone and the agitation didn't prevent him from correctly admiring Marco.

Jean had never been a subtle person, always blunt with his desires. Only this time, when he was trying his best to be smooth, his interest for Marco was so obvious that it was funny, and almost as sweet as the dates he was feeding on every day.

However, it was pretty clear the subject of this sudden interest didn't see it that way...

When Marco came back to the kitchens after running a small errand for Bertholdt at the end of the week, his eyes were searching every corner of the place, making sure a certain tawny eyed person wasn't present.

Bertholdt quietly chuckled at his friend's attitude. But still, behind his amusement, he understood how the brunette must feel. Jean's recurring visits and his interest for Marco had become the main gossip subject of the moment and therefore, the brunette had to endure (besides the prince's presence) the staring and snickering of the other kitchen workers. He was the center of attention and Bertholdt thought that if Marco was just a bit like him, he wouldn't appreciate this kind of attention. The only attention Bertholdt ever liked was the one provided by he tall muscular blond that shared his makeshift bed at night.

“He already left.” Bertholdt called out to Marco, making the brunette start “You just missed him.”

Marco slowly regained his composure, sighing. He stopped his wild looking around, letting his muscles relax.

“He asked for your name today.” Bertholdt informed after a short pause, his words making Marco visibly tense again, an attempted indifferent “Oh” escaping his parted lips. “I'm sorry but I had no other choice but to answer him.” 

“I know, it's alright” The brunette reassured, smiling weakly, soft brown eyes finally meeting worried green ones.

If Marco was anything, it wasn't stupid. He had noticed the way the prince relentlessly observed him, like an animal would its prey, sending shivers down his spine. The tawny gaze wasn't frightened anymore, it had regained its confident glow, reminding the brunette of the first day he met it.  
During the whole week, Marco had tried his best to avoid the prince, volunteering for every possible work that requested getting out of the kitchens; even the hardest ones that required a strength or technique that the brunette didn't always have, often making him struggle. Carrying the full and heavy water buckets from the well situated in one of the courts to the kitchens under the blazing midday sun had been one of the worst.   
Sadly, the prince's visits were as random as his idleness allowed them, making predicting his apparitions a very difficult task. 

The brunette didn't want to have anything to do with this boy. However, as much as he tried, he couldn't forget the way his hands had felt on his skin and seeing the ashen blond everyday really wasn't helping. Marco was always on edge, ending up having hallucinations, his mind creating images, making him believe he saw flaming eyes circled with black when there was nothing, making him feel like he was being watched even in his sleep. He knew he had to chase these thoughts out of his mind, but it was like a trauma, it was irrational, like a deep burn fueled by every apparition of Pharaoh's heir. The only thing he could do to try to be able to heal, was avoid contact with the flame of Jean's existence.

But the stars didn't want to spare Marco Bodt just yet.

The hands of fate materialized in the person of Bertholdt who unintentionally sealed Marco's destiny with the simplest of tasks.

“Marco, I'm so sorry to ask this of you giving the current situation but...” Bertholdt nervously started but stopped mid sentence when he almost dropped one of the too many plates he was trying to balance on his shaking arms. He was sweating profusely, the clear drops falling from his eyebrows and onto his eyes, making him wince. After he regained his balance, he continued

“Can you bring this basket of fruits to Jean's room. I was supposed to do it but I gotta serve at Pharaoh's table and...” He stopped again, giving Marco an apologetic look.

Marco looked up from the silverware he was polishing. He knew Bertholdt was really sorry for him and he couldn't let him down, not when he had finally been allowed to do the service again. The brunette nodded slightly but couldn't muster the strength to smile at his friend. He was already anxious about this little errand.

“Don't worry, you just have to knock, open the door, put down the basket and leave. Jean will probably not even be there.” Bertholdt whispered, trying his best to make things a little bit better.

The tall slave's thoughtfulness was sweet, but it didn't really cheer Marco up, his stomach clenching as he grabbed the wicker basket full of shining juicy fruits and exited the kitchens.

 

Marco wandered the long corridors of the palace, carefully following Bertholdt's instructions to find the prince's room. Second room on the left of the second floor... This must be it.   
The door to Jean's room was huge, made of a refined and finely sculpted wood essence. Marco gulped, raising a trembling hand against the smooth surface of the door. He softly knocked once, then a second time, louder. The brunette considered leaving the basket on the floor in front of the door but decided against it. He didn't want to bring himself or Bertholdt trouble for not obeying the prince's exact orders.   
Marco flattened his ear against the thick wood, checking for any sound. There were indeed muffled noises coming from inside, but they were too low to be identified. Marco's hopes that Jean was asleep so he could silently sneak into the room to set down the fruit's basket were crushed.   
But the brunette didn't get discouraged. He took a deep breath and gently pushed the door so it was only half open. Marco then peeked inside to check the battlefield, but the sight he was met with he never expected.

The prince was currently sprawled onto the mattress of a large bed with richly decorated golden foot boards. However, the prince wasn't sleeping; far from it.  
His hands were gripping the white sheets tightly, back arched, head thrown back and Adam apple sticking out behind pale skin. His bare thighs were spread, his feet dangling from the bed and between them rested a moving mass of chestnut brown hair. The brown haired man pleasing his prince was on his knees on the floor, diligently bobbing his head to a mad rhythm, the muscles of his back flexing with every move.

Marco couldn't believe what he was seeing. He understood what was happening of course, and he knew he shouldn't stay there. But he was so shocked that his limbs refused to move. He tried to regain the use of his muscles but wasn't quick enough, for his petrification worsened when his gaze met tawny unfocused eyes.   
Even though he said nothing, Marco was sure the prince had spotted him, his blazing gaze now trapping him. It was as if he had been turned into stone; like in one of those Greek stories his father read him; the story of Medusa. But instead of being made of living snakes, Marco's gorgon hair was ashen blond and disheveled. The brunette doubted he would be as lucky as Perseus; he would probably not come back unharmed from this confrontation.

Suddenly, the slave between the prince's long legs gave a particularly hard suck, making him grip at the chestnut hair with both his hands, a lewd moan escaping his parted lips. But his eyes never left Marco. When the prince started licking his flushed bitten lips, Marco felt very cold and then very hot. He was mesmerized by this disgusting and at the same time beautiful scene. The brunette had never seen something so obscene and he suspected it was the reason it affected him so much. An invisible fire was burning his skin, coiling mostly south and he blamed his healthy young male hormones for making the prince's moans sound so attractive.

But Marco shouldn't be watching this. It was wrong. This was only an act of guilty pleasure; impure and dirty. And he was guilty too for keeping his eyes on the two men when the prince's hips stared moving, thrusting into the kneeling slave's inviting mouth without meeting any resistance or protest.  
The brunette knew he had to get a grip, but the tawny gaze trapping him was too strong. The seconds seemed like hours as Marco kept watching in shame and fascination. The prince's moans and whimpers grew louder and louder until he started shaking, his whole body trembling under the pleasure he was receiving and his eyes finally closing, freeing Marco from their hold. The boy averted his eyes, turning back to leave quickly. What the he didn't expect, was to hear the loud pleading sound of his name escaping the prince's lips as he cried out, coming.

“A-ah! Marco!”

Marco's blood froze. The tight hurting grip he didn't realize he had on the forgotten basket loosened, letting the fruits roll all over the corridor's floor. But the brunette didn't hear it, didn't care. He was already fleeing, running as fast as he could, tears filling the corner of his eyes and disgustingly acidic bile filling his mouth.


	3. Meeting with Osiris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter, new characters introduced, yeah!
> 
> You also get to see more of Jean in this chapter.
> 
> Thanks a lot to all the people who left kudos or comments, it means so much to me and makes me want to write more!  
> I have so many ideas for this fic, I hope you'll like them and you'll keep up with this story. I also hope you appreciate the little ancient egypt facts/customs I often explain as well as the mention of the numerous egyptian gods. I hope you learn things and it doesn't bother or annoy you... I try for it to not take too much space in the story.
> 
> Anyway, on with the chapter

Without thinking Marco had taken refuge into the empty slave quarters. He didn't know how long he stayed there, curled up on his makeshift bed, trembling and worrying at his lower lip. He felt dirty, soiled by the sinful voice of the prince gasping his name.

And the worst was that his erection didn't want to go away.

The scene he witnessed had aroused him, he couldn't deny it; and he couldn't forget about it, images still fresh in his now perverted mind. Blaming his hormones didn't change the fact that Marco was so ashamed of himself that he felt nauseous. He couldn't possibly go back to work like this. He didn't have the strength or will to do anything but wallow in misery alone in the dark, even if he knew his absence in the kitchens would undoubtedly bring him trouble.

Unfortunately, the first noises of footsteps filled the room, meaning work-time was over and more slaves would soon flood into the room. 

Marco whined as a single set of footsteps came closer. He curled even more into his fetal position, burying his head into his knees.  
The creaking noise of a weight straining the wood of one of the beds filled the silent room and a few seconds passed before the owner of a distinctively deep voice noticed the immobile form of the brunette.

“Marco what are you doing here? Are you sick?”

Reiner's voice was concerned and unusually low. He sounded tired, the day in the quarries must have been rough. Marco felt bad for being affected like this by the single breath of his name from another boy's lips when there were obviously people suffering more than him. But he also knew it was a different kind of pain; physical suffering could sometimes be easier to deal with than a more psychological one. Marco couldn't control his feelings, he couldn't help the disgust and helplessness petrifying his whole body. 

He didn't answer Reiner's questions. 

The blond came closer, kneeling in front of his bed and his voice came softer, just a whisper.

“Hey, what's wrong?”

Marco bit into his lip harder, his nails digging into his palms, leaving angry red marks. He didn't want to be seen like this, he didn't want to talk about it and felt like he didn't need to. He felt as if the fact he watched the prince getting a fellatio was written all over every inch of his skin, screaming to the outside world how disgusting he was.  
Marco just wanted to lay there, in the dark, hiding his shameful self until everyone forgot he even existed.

The prince's face viciously came back dancing in front of the brunette's eyes, mouth opened in a silent cry and eyes burning through him, not willing to let him get away. Marco winced and Reiner put a worried hand on his shoulder, making the brunette jump, the contact burning his feverish skin.

“Did someone hurt you?”

Marco felt the metallic taste of blood invade his mouth as he ended up cutting his bottom lip with his teeth.   
He took a deep breath, trying to calm his fast beating heart. He wanted Reiner to go away, he wanted to push his reassuring hand far away but he also wanted to be comforted, needing a hug really bad.  
It is with these conflicted feelings that Marco slowly straightened up, sitting on the wooden plank making his bed, his knees drawn to his chest.   
When he finally dared looking to his blond friend, it was with tears blurring his vision.

“I can't... I can't do this anymore. I- I want to go home.” Marco blurted out, his voice weak and broken by the sobs that started shaking his body. 

He let the tears flow down his cheeks, his face quickly becoming wet, the taste of salt pronounced on his tongue. The emotions he kept for himself and only let out at night washed over him in a gigantic wave. His sobs only grew louder, tears not giving any sign of stopping. The brunette tried to keep his eyes dry by rubbing them with the heels of his hands, but it was a vain effort, only resulting in irritating them more.

Reiner watched him, visibly not knowing what to do to brighten up his friend's mood. The blond's hand migrated from Marco's trembling shoulder to his knee, squeezing gently.

“I know it's hard...” Reiner started, understanding how lonely his friend could feel “but you're gonna be alright, okay? Bertholdt and I are here for you” He continued, his voice not so steady “if there is anything I can do, please tell me”

Marco shook his head weakly. There was nothing that could be done; there was no way he could regain his freedom and go home, no way he could forget what he saw in that bedroom. He felt like a little child, crying his heart out as he whispered a distressed “I want my mom”.

Reiner fell silent but kept his hand on Marco's knee, grounding the brunette as he expelled all his sorrow via his eyes. They stayed like this until another set of hurried footsteps entered the room and Bertholdt showed up, letting out a pained and strangled gasp upon seeing Marco.

“Oh Marco, I'm so sorry.” The tall slave knelt in front of the brunette, beside Reiner “Did something happen with Jean?” It was more of a statement than a question but the violent sob raking Marco's sitting form still confirmed it.

Bertholdt sighed “I shouldn't have asked you to go to his room” He confessed guiltily.   
But he knew being sorry wouldn't change what happened, so he took Marco's hand in his, gently coaxing the brunette into standing up. He then put a comforting hand around his shoulders, steadying him before he turned to Reiner.

“Let's go somewhere else, everyone will soon be done with work”

And so the trio slowly escaped the seclusion of the slave quarters.

 

The three slaves traveled through the corridors, carefully avoiding bumping into anyone until they had settled down into the courtyard, hidden underneath the large leaves of the palm trees.

It took some time for Marco to evacuate all he needed to get out, but eventually his crying became softer, quieter, before it stopped completely, leaving him tired and numb.

Bertholdt and Reiner sat on both side of the brunette's crouched figure the whole time, close enough to be comforting, but still giving him space to breath.  
The cool air of the night was grounding Marco, bringing him back to the present, the gentle breeze of summer chasing away the images that had played incessantly in his disturbed mind. And when he looked up, the stars were there, like when he was home, greeting him like old friends and making him feel a little bit better.   
He was thankful to Bertholdt and Reiner for bringing him outside, where he could find the reassuring glow of the constellations. These two had taken care of him without a second thought, even when they risked punishment for being out after curfew. They had helped him so much since he arrived in Egypt and Marco didn't know if he could ever repay their kindness. He wished upon the stars that one day he could.

 

After their around an hour of appeasing silent star gazing, Bertholdt and Reiner guided Marco back to the dorms, burying him under a mountain of reassuring words, encouragements and mostly apologies coming from Bertholdt only.   
During their walk Marco, who had considerably calmed down finally explained them, though through snatches, what put him into the state they found him in. The two other slaves listened, not making any comments, putting the pieces together, trying to understand what their friend had felt back then.

When they arrived to the slave quarters, they silently went to bed, making sure they didn't wake anyone up. Bertholdt and Reiner watched over Marco from their bed until he fell asleep. And unlike every other night he spent in this bed, the brunette quickly fell into a deep slumber, exhausted.

\-----------

The following day, Marco had no other choice but to go back to the kitchens with Bertholdt; he couldn't possibly skip work. Still, the brunette was anxious. He was afraid the prince would come back to see him. And unfortunately, his fears materialized a few hours after lunch, when a confident Jean entered the kitchens, whistling, obviously in a good mood. However, the prince hadn't yet spotted the young freckled slave he was looking for, which gave Bertholdt enough time to grab the immobile Marco and push him out of the kitchens by the back door, silently telling him to keep quiet by bringing a finger in front of his mouth. Then the lanky dark haired slave quickly closed the back door, leaving Marco alone outside.

The brunette exhaled slowly, processing what his friend had just done for him. He smiled a little and leaned back against the argyle wall behind him.  
Closing his eyes, Marco waited, breathing in the sweet scenting afternoon air in an attempt to calm his rapidly beating heart. He didn't know what he would do if he were to face the prince again, probably panic, so he was thankful to Bertholdt for helping him again. Still, he knew he would eventually have to face Jean again. He couldn't let his friends take risks by hiding him forever. But he wasn't ready yet, it was far too soon.

When his Bertholdt came back, his head poking out of the wooden back door, Marco's heart rate had normalized. 

“You can come back, he left.” Bertholdt whispered with a smile.

The taller man's green eyes were soft when he gently put his hand on Marco's bare shoulder, as the brunette stepped back into the kitchens.

“Don't worry, I won't let him get to you again.”

\-----------

Bertholdt kept his promise. For days he covered up for Marco, always scrutinizing the kitchen's entrance, attentive to the voices, the footsteps and every other details, so he could have time to hide Marco whenever Jean decided to show up.  
The brunette was so grateful he kept showering Bertholdt with thank yous, making the taller slave blush and sweat in the process.  
The young freckled slave felt himself get better day by day. He was less restless and he stopped being startled by every unusual noise in the kitchen. Thanks to his friends, his mood brightened a bit; he even stopped crying at night, time slowly making the memory of the hardships he faced duller, less painful.

But there was a limit to what Bertholdt could do to protect him, and little did he know that Marco's barely healed wounds were going to be put under strain again.

\-----------

When the news started spreading into the kitchens that Pharaoh was holding a banquet to celebrate the abundance of the first harvests, sighs and grumbles filled the kitchens. Banquets at Pharaoh's palace were a common occurrence and were always huge gatherings of noble people that had to be entertained by a swarm of musicians, dancers and most importantly, loads of food. Pharaoh always ordered the most complicated dishes and in astronomic quantities, so the slaves knew they had to prepare for a couple of long sleepless nights. It was going to be as much fun for the guests as it would be a pain for the kitchen workers.

The organization of such an event was meticulously thought through, each and every slave being assigned precise tasks they had to complete in time if they didn't want a one way trip to the dungeons.  
Bertholdt was never one to work good under pressure, so he wished with all his heart that Marco and him would only be assigned to works within the kitchens, and not forced to also do the service during the banquet. If he was to do the service, Bertholdt knew he was meant to screw something up again. Indeed, during the last banquet, he _did spill_ wine all over Pharaoh. And he also knew it wouldn't do Marco any good to be forced to stay into the same room as Jean during a whole evening. Even though he could probably avoid him in the mass of guest, it was still a situation they'd both liked to not be facing.

However, fate, their faithful companion had yet again decided otherwise, and both slaves were assigned to the kitchens during the day and to the service in the evening as well as the rest of the night. The prospect of such a stressful and tiring event made Bertholdt sweat profusely and Marco's guts twist uncomfortably. The brunette had been fine in an environment like the kitchens, full of slaves only, but he didn't know if he could handle behind surrounded by a mass of rich people looking down on him like he was just part of the furniture.  
They both tried to talk themselves out of it, willing to switch places with anyone, but the higher up slaves supervising the festivities were categorical; their decision was irrevocable.

So it is with slumped shoulders and sad faces that the two friends returned to the slave quarters, where they found an equally defeated Reiner.  
The blond smiled weakly upon seeing them, but the slight shift in his posture caused him to wince in pain.  
Marco watched Bertholdt sit beside him on their bed, saw his face fall, his eyebrows knitting when he was met with the state of Reiner's back.

“Marco, can you get me water and alcohol please, we need to clean these.” Bertholdt's voice wasn't bossy, but it was infinitely sad.   
The brunette quickly fetched a bucket of water, as well as a clean cloth he found in the kitchens. He then took an abandoned jug containing only a drop of red wine. This would have to do.

When he came back to the dorms, Reiner's head was resting on Bertholdt's shoulder, the latter's hand slowly drawing invisible patterns on the blond's arm while his lips gently brushed against his temples, whispering reassuring words.  
Bertholdt quickly set to work when Marco gave him all he could find, gently rubbing water and then alcohol on the lashing open wounds slicing Reiner's back. The blond stayed quiet the whole time, trying to hold back the whimpers of pain threatening to escape his bitten lips. 

Marco couldn't do anything more to help, he was yet again powerless, unable to help his dear friends more. He didn't know what to say, so he stayed silent, with downcast eyes, wondering who could be cruel enough to hurt another human being like this.   
When Bertholdt was done, the water in the bucket at his feet had turned slightly pink. The lanky slave let out a tired breath and gathered Reiner in his arms, embracing him carefully, not wanting to hurt him any more than he already was. He then looked to Marco with a weak smile.

“Go to sleep, it had been a rough day for all of us”

Marco nodded before he turned his back to his friends, trying to find a somewhat comfortable (or at least not too painful) position to sleep in. And in the last moments of consciousness between awareness and sleep, his heart sank as he thought he heard Reiner cry.

\-----------

The night of the banquet came a few days later, the tiring hours of preparation being spend in such a rush that they went by surprisingly quickly. However the weight of the already accomplished work was still clinging to Marco and Bertholdt, their muscles sore and their backs hurting when the huge heavily decorated hall hosting the party started filling with the numerous guests.  
Marco's hands were covered in little cuts caused by excessive vegetable peeling. They weren't too deep to bleed, but still important enough to cause a constant mild throbbing pain. The young slave sighed, the night was going to be long. But at least he was paired up with his friend.  
Bertholdt and him were so often assigned jobs together and Marco suspected it was mainly because no one else wanted to end up paired with either of them. The brunette shrugged the thought off. It didn't matter, the result was there: being together with a friend eased the harshness of the tasks they were carrying out.

Armed with heavy silver jugs, the two slave's mission was to keep the guest's glasses full, which it turned out to be a much more daring one than expected since there were only two of them against a myriad of thirsty guest who incredibly liked their drink.  
You could say they literally made the red wine flow freely. On the bright side of things, Marco noticed Bertholdt's hands stopped trembling in fear of spilling the staining liquid after a dozen or so glasses.

Covering the room to and fro quickly became exhausting. But at last, the opportunity for both friends to take a small well deserved break came with the arrival of none other but the prince, who waited for the party to be in full swing to make his grand entrance. The room fell silence as the doors opened, revealing a confident as ever Jean.  
However the prince wasn't dressed as usual, draped in a fancier outfit. He was wearing the usual white embroidered with golden strings shendyt, but accompanied by a golden belt embedded with small shining emeralds. His bare chest bore a voluminous gorgerine made of lapis lazulis and topaze, with on the bottom hundreds of thin and long golden threads, forming a sort of curtain, stopping just above his nipples. Large long and also golden earrings hang off his ears, making his neck look impossibly long, and matching golden bracelets that almost reached his elbows adorned his thin wrists. Marco had to admit it was making his skinny figure much more imposing, much more regal and the brunette was a bit impressed.  
The thought that he looked really good crossed his mind, but he moderated it; anyone would look good clad in gold and gems. Still, he froze by reflex upon seeing him. 

Marco knew he couldn't stay afraid forever. He was done with being anxious, done feeling sorry for himself; it wouldn't make things better. He wanted to be strong and during the previous days, when his friends courageously fought to keep him away from Jean, he swore to himself that this time he would face the prince if needed, letting him know that he wanted to be left alone. If he was destined to be enslaved for the rest of his life, he'd rather not spend every minute of it fearing he would cross the prince's path and torturing his mind imagining what would result of the encounter.

Suddenly, the movement of a feline form hidden into Jean's shadow made Marco tore his eyes away from the radiant prince, the flow of his thoughts coming to a halt. The brunette couldn't believe what he was seeing. Graciously walking beside Jean was a majestic cheetah. But it wasn't like any cheetah Marco had ever seen (or rather unlike any cheetah drawing Marco ever saw); most of its fur was speckled like that of a regular cheetah, but on its back, the speckles were replaced with three long ink black strips running from the animal's head to the end of its long tail. Marco had heard of domesticated cheetahs, but he never thought he would ever see one with such a strange pattern on its gleaming fur strolling around without a leash in the middle of a mass of people. Yet the predator was here, calmly following its owner, even lying at his feet when he took a seat.

Quickly after the prince had settle into a comfortable chair, the swarm of guests came buzzing around him, complimenting and praising him while forgetting their drinks in the process, giving Marco and Bertholdt a well deserved rest.  
Bertholdt took a tired breath before he left Marco alone to grab some drinks for themselves, as a little reward for their hard work.

The brunette used the short waiting time to observe the festivities more carefully. In one of the corners of the room stood a whole orchestra, every instrument he could think of represented at least once, whether strings, winds or percussion. Next to the full orchestra, Marco noticed for the first time two elegant dancers, their bodies undulating to the festive music's flow. The first one was a woman wearing very little clothing and the second was male, draped into a multitude of azure veils. Inspecting the dancing figures more carefully, Marco was surprised to find that the chestnut hair of the male dancer was familiar. With a shiver he realized the last and first time he saw this slave was between the pale thighs of the prince, a few nights ago.  
It was just after this epiphany that Bertholdt decided to show up with two bronze cups of fresh water (drinking wine would be unwise given their state of fatigue and the fact they had to stay alert for the rest of the evening). Marco gladly accepted the drink and finished it all in one gulp, the fresh liquid cooling his heating body and relieving the sudden dryness of his throat. Bertholdt watched him, slightly amused before his smile faded when Marco pointed to the young dancer while whispering:

“It's the boy I saw the other day when... you know...”

And to Marco's surprise, Bertholdt nodded in understanding. 

“Doesn't surprise me. At first Jean wanted Mikasa to be the one visiting his chambers at night, but when she refused, her brother Eren ended up doing it instead” The lanky slave explained, sweat trickling down his temples. “If you're gonna ask me how Mikasa got rid of Jean's attention, she threatened to emasculate him. And trust me she would have done it.” Bertholdt added with a nervous laugh.

Marco was impressed with his friend's polite phrasing but still winced at the thought that the beautiful and delicate looking dancing woman would be fierce enough to put an end to Pharaoh's lineage.   
Still, the brunette saw why the prince had been attracted to her. Mikasa was a natural beauty. Her skin was pale white, contrasting with her long straight jet black hair and eyes. Her body was slender, yet muscular with a skinny waist and a beautiful though not so generous chest. She clearly wasn't Egyptian and moreover she didn't look one bit like her brother.  
Eren's skin violently contrasted with his sister's; it was darker, sun-kissed. He wasn't particularly tall or muscular; rather plain looking at first. But his face was definitely something, with huge pools of endless topaz as eyes, added to a flashing white smile and full lips. And the way he danced, swaying his hips to the dynamic beat of the music was almost erotic. Scratch the almost; the pair's waving bodies were mesmerizing. That's probably what the large audience circling them, eyes intensely following their movements, thought too.  
It was the first time Marco saw anyone dance like that, with such sensual gestures and so little clothing and he soon averted his gaze before he felt himself grow too hot from looking at the alluring display. Instead he focused his attention back to his taller friend, making small talk to distract his wandering mind. But their discussion was short lived as the guests started heading back to the buffet, their interest in talking to the prince faltering. So the two friends got back to their glass-filling duty.  
Honestly, Marco didn't find it so bad, at least he could stay away from Jean. Or so he thought.

In a matter of seconds after the brunette took hold of his wine jug again, the prince was already waving his glass at him, smirking.  
At this point Marco was more annoyed than afraid. After all, what could the prince do to him with so many people around? And if things got problematic, he could always as a last resort threaten to castrate him. It worked for the black-haired dancer so why not. Although contrary to her, he wasn't willing to carry this threat out.  
The brunette took a deep breath, gathering his courage. He was going to go there, fill the prince's glass and walk away. It was simple, he could do it.  
His legs carried him towards the heir and his feline pet. The cheetah growled deep in its chest, making Marco stop a meter away from Jean's seat. 

“Hush Kiya, little Marco here is no threat.” The prince calmed the predator, petting its head slowly. The way he stressed every syllable in Marco's name made the brunette's skin crawl. “Come on, come closer. You don't have to be afraid.” Jean added, tilting his glass again.

Marco frowned but stepped forward. It is on guard, chocolate brown eyes locked into tawny ones, that he carefully poured red wine into the prince's golden glass.

“Thank you Marco” Jean whispered in a velvety voice, winking. 

Marco blushed despite himself, turning back to walk away as Jean started drinking. But he was interrupted by disapproving sounds coming from the prince's full mouth. 

“Why are you in such a hurry Marco? Don't you want to stay with me a little? I'm getting really bored here and I'd appreciate your... _company_ ” 

The brunette didn't like the abusive use of his name, nor did he like the way the prince's legs just opened a little. 

“Sorry my prince, but I must tend to the other guests. Their glasses also need filling.” Marco politely answered, faking a smile.

Jean gave an unrefined huff.

“Such devotion. If that's what's bothering your pretty little head, I relieve you of your duties for   
tonight.”

Marco didn't know what to say, staring at the prince, mouth agape, losing his repartee. Jean smiled brightly at his little victory.

“Why don't you come sit with me and enjoy the party?” He offered with a wicked smirk.

By the way Jean patted his left leg and the absence of another chair beside his, Marco deduced that by “sit with me” he meant “sit on me”. Discomfort filled the brunette. He was trapped yet again under that sharp dark circled gaze. But he held it; he had decided he wouldn’t let himself be ordered around by the prince anymore. He was done being afraid. He wouldn't bow again.

“I'd rather not.” 

The refusal wasn't so flat, lacking a bit of confidence, but it was a good start.   
The prince's brows knitted dangerously before relaxing, his smile ever present.

“Oh. Well if you don't want to sit, you can still dance for me.” He replied smoothly.

Tawny eyes burned harder, their hot fire surrounding Marco. But the brunette didn't want to give up yet.

“No.” 

The word was there but not quite the heart, Marco's voice trembling and weak. His arms were shaking but he stood his ground.  
Jean quirked a quizzical eyebrow, amused and obviously not convinced by this answer.

“Mmh. You're right, you can't dance without the proper outfit now can you?” Jean mockingly asked while making a weird gesture with his hand.

Marco watched the unreadable expression on the prince's face questioningly. Soon they were joined by a smiling Eren, walking slowly, an alluring swing to his hips. Sweat was making the dancer's naked torso shine, his breath still a bit ragged from his previous physical activity.

“How may I help you my prince” Eren asked, bowed low, one hand resting over his heart and a mischievous glint in his turquoise eyes.

Jean reluctantly averted his gaze from Marco's figure to look at the dancer before he ordered “Give me one of your veils, Marco here needs a proper outfit if he wants to dance for me”. 

What Marco wouldn't give to wipe the sufficient grin out of that arrogant prince's face.

Eren obeyed, visibly disappointed by the unusual request. When he handed Jean one of his veils, the prince took it and stood up, coming closer to Marco and holding it close to his face, the soft fabric barely brushing against his freckled cheeks and nose. 

Jean pouted.

“I think red would suit you better, but this will have to do” he said, and with a swift motion, he draped the blue fabric around Marco's shoulders, giving a sharp pull so that their chest rested flush against each other.   
Marco gasped, surprised, the sound only fueling Jean's wicked grin.  
But the prince didn't stop there, slowly lowering the veil against the brunette's back, until it was resting on his hips, the movement of the soft fabric tickling Marco in a strange way, making him shiver. He then pulled again. But this time, Marco was prepared, and he held back the new gasp that formed into his throat when his hips met the prince's.  
If Jean was disappointed by this lack of response, he didn't show it, busying himself with tying the thin veil around the slave's waist in a tight but elegant knot, causing the fabric to fall around Marco's legs graciously, forming a long see-through skirt around his legs.

Jean stepped back, admiring his work with satisfaction. His cheeks were faintly flushed, ammost imperceptibly so.

“Now dance for me” he breathed, eyes blazing. 

Marco gulped, his courage faltering under the hot gaze locked on him. 

“No.” 

To the brunette's own surprise, the word that escaped his lips was firmer than the first time.

“No?” 

This time Jean's frown was deep, and it stayed in place when Marco answered, his voice coming out more clearly now, more assured.

“I don't want to dance for you.” 

Losing his patience, Jean clenched his fists and groaned, the sound quickly joined by the scarier and louder matching growl of his cheetah. 

“You don't want to? You don't get a choice here slave” Jean spat, the first name basis all but gone “I am your prince and you should obey me.”

Marco stepped back, impressed by this sudden outburst. But Jean kept walking towards him menacingly, his feline pet now by his side, baring its long pointy teeth at him. 

“If I tell you to dance, you dance, if I tell you to sit, you sit!”

Marco was overwhelmed with Jean's animalistic gaze, doubled with his fellow cheetah's similar dark circled golden one. He looked back and forth into the two pair of equally intimidating eyes, his head spinning.

“Even if I tell you to stop breathing, you do so, no questioning.” Jean's voice grew dangerously low, his body now extremely close to Marco's, making warning signs flash into the slave's mind.

_Too close. Too close._

The brunette took one last step back, not noticing the cheetah had positioned just behind him, ambushing him. Marco let out a terrified yelp as he tripped over the animal's body, losing his balance and landing on his bottom into the huge fountain situated in the middle of the room.  
Water splashed everywhere as the slave tried to get out, wiggling his arms helplessly, his shendyt and the veil he was still wearing completely soaked and his hair clinging to his forehead, partially blinding him.  
The brunette finally succeeded in sitting in the shallow waters, his heavy breath suddenly stopping when he met the prince's eyes. One of his feet was resting on the fountain's edge, his hand on his knee, a satisfied smirk plastered on his irritating face. His pet had retreated behind him, probably not wanting to get splashed.

“You look good like this, all wet for me.”

The arrogant tone and innuendo made anger boil into Marco's veins. His face flushed at the comment and his blush deepened when he realized most of the eyes were on him, dozens of people laughing at him. He was humiliated, but he wouldn't let it get to him. These people meant nothing to him. He still had his dignity and he would never let the prince have it by obeying his selfish spoiled kid's desires.

“You son of...” Marco started, his frustration slipping out by his tongue, his clenched fist jerking angrily into the water, making it churn.

“Nah ah ah” Jean stopped him, wagging his pointer finger from left to right in a disapproving motion “No swearing, it doesn't suit you.” He reprimanded “But you know what, you're cute when you're angry”. 

An infuriating wink accompanied those words and the prince's smile widened, showing more white teeth as every fiber of Marco's being shook in outrage. He never wanted to punch someone so badly. He wasn't usually violent but his fist was ready to soar into action, itching to strike the pompous bastard right into his pointy chin.

“I'll never agree to obey to the likes of you...” he cried out in anger and disgust “...a monster!”

The crowd gasped, probably not from Marco's revolted words but more from the surprise caused by the simultaneous opening of the large golden doors of the hall. The sight of the newcomers made the room fall silent. One of them Marco recognized, his tall figure clad in his usual leopard fur. However the other one, a man he never met, he recognized even quicker.  
His regalia made it easy, the crook and flail crossed against his chest, not leaving him even in this supposedly festive situation. He wore on his regal head the symbolic striped Nemes falling down to his square shoulders, with on its front the threatening rearing cobra that was the Uraeus, symbol of the goddess Wadjet, protector or the lower Egypt, joined closely by the sculpted head of a vulture representing Nekhbet, guardian of the upper Egypt; the association of the two goddesses crowning Pharaoh as the true unifier and ruler of both Egypts.   
Marco could see where Jean took his confident walk from, but Pharaoh was on an entirely different level. His steps were assured but light and graceful, like he was sliding through the room, unaffected by the numerous eyes glued on him. His head was held high, showing off to advantage the dark fake goatee on his pointy chin.

Marco watched the sovereign come closer and stop in front of his son, a disappointed look into his strict eyes. Jean's tawny gaze was obviously avoiding meeting his father's obsidian one, his smile gone and his eyes hard.

“Jean, look at me” Pharaoh's voice wasn't angry, but it was still deep and commending

Jean didn't obey. Not moving an inch, is expression turning to some kind of awkward pout, making his father sigh deeply.

“When will you start acting like a grown up? You are eighteen years of age now and yet I feel like I can not leave you alone one minute and not come back to see you made a fool of yourself again.” Jean still didn't react, his gaze piercing the ground he was looking at. 

So Pharaoh raised his voice just slightly “Have I not told you enough that you should treat every one of your future subjects with respect. The slaves aren't as privileged as you are but they aren't your playthings. They have jobs to do and you shouldn't hinder them.” He scolded.

The prince still refused to answer and to look his father in the eyes. He stayed frozen in his spot, sulking like a child.   
Marco watched the scene, dumbfounded by the prince's sudden change of attitude and mostly by Pharaoh's words. Seeing his son, he thought the sovereign would be a demonic tyrant who stepped over dead slaves bodies, getting cross whenever someone spilled something on him. But now he seemed a decent man, completely different from his offspring.

When Pharaoh turned to him, examining his soaked figure, Marco tensed. Even if Pharaoh wasn't probably as bad as he first thought, the last time he “messed” with Jean he still ended up in the dungeons. But he remembered he also got out pretty quickly thanks to the sovereign's apparent magnanimity. He gulped as he waited for his sentence.

“Guards!” The sudden shout made Marco jump. He was still on edge from his confrontation with the prince. “Give this boy towels and new clothes, then escort him back to the slave quarter. I think he's had enough for tonight.”

In a split second, two pairs of strong arms lifted Marco up, getting him out of the fountain and dragging him away with a bruising hold. He looked back over his shoulder to see the prince still looking down. Priest Nick had just joined him, a smug smile on his face as he whispered something the brunette couldn't catch directly into Jean's ear, making the prince's face fall, teeth tearing his bottom lip open. Curiosity filled Marco as he wondered what poisonous words coming from this sneaky man could possibly create such a helpless reaction from the confident prince.

Pharaoh, from his part, had already moved on, elegantly approaching the still silent crowd that had witnessed the scene, generously opening his arms.

“Please my friends, let us forget this unfortunate event and rejoice in the plentiful harvests the Gods blessed us with!”

The crowd cheered and the music started playing again, the festivities resuming where they stopped as the two guards led Marco out of the room. The massive golden doors soon closed behind him, the thickness of their structure blocking the raising noises of the party.  
The guards unhand the brunette and before he could say or do anything, one of them gave him a hard slap on the back, knocking the air from his lungs.

“Get back to your dorm slave!” He barked.

Marco's eyes widened but he obeyed. He had rebelled enough for one night and he was so tired and cold that he just wanted to go curl up into his uncomfortable bed. It was shivering, his back burning and water dripping from his clothes and hair right onto the immaculate marble floor that the brunette regained his personal wood plank, his heart sinking with the realization that the people treating him the more nastily weren't the ones he first expected to.

Getting rid of the ruined turquoise veil still attached to his hips, Marco still praised himself for standing up to the prince. He may have ended up ridiculed in front of all the top people in Thebes, but it wasn't so serious, and he would probably not be bothered anymore by the tawny eyed prince and his equally brash pet. After all, the telling Jean got from his father, besides in front of so many people, would cool anyone's ardour.   
The slave finished drying himself before lying down on his makeshift bed and closing his eyes. And it is with the positive though of never being annoyed by the prince again that Marco fell into a dreamless sleep, exhausted.

But in the skies Shai, deity of fate, watched over the young slave, entertained and amused by his naivety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When the idea of giving Jean a cheetah as a pet striked me I was so excited. So Kiya is not a regular cheetah, she is a king cheetah, a very rare kind of cheetah with a special pattern. 
> 
> You can find a photo [here](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/5e/King_cheetah.jpg)
> 
> Marco thinks he's gonna get rid of Jean's attention but he is so wrong, poor thing.
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I'll see you in the next one!


	4. Resting under Nephthys' watch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter upadte!  
> Thanks again to every one who left kudos or commment on this fic, it means sooo much to me.
> 
> Lots of references in this chapter, and not really any egyptian facts this time. I hope you'll still enjoy it! :)

A smile graced Marco's face as his hands gently pulled on the goat's udders. Not that touching the animal's teats was a delight to him, far from it, but he was, for the first time in weeks in a good mood. Indeed, recently everything seemed to go his way (except of course for the unchangeable fact that he was still enslaved).  
After the banquet, Jean didn't come back to the kitchens; not even once, and Marco never bumped into him either. Besides, he never came across Priest Nick into the library again, making his visits to his peaceful sanctuary perfectly relaxing and enjoyable. He even was offered, with the new clothes he had to request after ruining the previous ones in the fountain, a thin wool blanket to prevent him from catching a cold.  
“A sick slave is a useless slave, and we don't want you infecting the whole dorm” had commented the launderer who gave him the precious item upon seeing the brunette's sneezing, result of a night in soaked clothes. Marco held onto that blanket like a treasure. It made his cold nights so much more comfortable, even if it was sometimes a bit itchy, that he couldn't afford losing it, hiding it every morning so no other slave would steal it.   
Thanks to that blanket, and to the receding of his short lived cold, the previous night's sleep had been the best sleep Marco had since he was forcefully moved to Egypt.   
The young slave was impressed by the wonders it made on his body and mind. When he woke up, his muscles weren't as sore as usual, and his mind was alert, no traces of bad dreams sustaining the usual dark circles under his eyes.

The goat gave a nasty kick into Marco's small bucket, becoming annoyed with the treatment the slave was inflicting her. The brunette caught the wobbling bucket just in time to avoid spilling its entire content on the dusty dry floor. He mentally praised his reflexes that just saved him from a severe lecture and decided the milking was done.  
He headed back to the kitchens with his full bucket and started filling small egg-shaped earthen jars with its content, then proceeding to plug them with grass to prevent insects from getting in.   
Because of the hot weather, milk spoiled in a few hours, so these jars were destined to be consummated very quickly. They would be served for breakfast in a few minutes.

Eying the bottom of the bucket, Marco decided to save the remaining milk which wasn't enough to fill a jar. He hid it in a corner so he could share it with Bertholdt and Reiner later. It had been weeks since he last drank the white beverage and he seriously missed it. He was more used to drinking sheep milk since he was a shepherd, or had been a shepherd... But anyway, the prospect of drinking milk, even if it was goat milk was making his mouth water.

Marco didn't like to admit it but he had always been a bit of a gourmand. Back home, he used to eat sweet berries off the bushes until his stomach ached, repeating the same mistake every spring, never learning his lesson and always earning a reprimand from his father and a candid laugh followed by a bitter cure made of a mix of plants from his mother.   
His new Egyptian life was made even more difficult by the fact he had to prepare and cook delicious looking meals without being allowed to eat them afterward. But Marco always managed to eat some of it anyway, whether he was excessively checking the taste of a broth or furtively snatching away a few grapes from their cluster while making a pie.  
It was his guilty little pleasure.   
He looked to the bucket again, licking his lips like a cat would in front of a bowl of cream.

\-----------

A few hours later, it is with content sigh and a milk-filled stomach that Marco traveled back to the kitchens, walking along the immaculate marble walls of the palace.  
Suddenly, around a corner, he collided with a guard, almost falling back onto his bottom over the force of the impact. After a breathed out “Ouch”, he quickly looked up to the guard, who was holding what seemed like horse tack, and apologized profusely.

“Oh for the love of Râ slave, stop apologizing!” He groaned, obviously annoyed “Make yourself useful instead and bring this to the prince in the courtyard” He added while loading Marco's arms with a saddle and a bridle. The brunette took a step back, letting out a short “ouf” from the sudden weight. And before Marco could protest, the guard had disappeared. 

So much for a good day. 

The slave sighed deeply before he started heading to the courtyard where he was going to be confronted to the ashen blond prince again.   
The walk was short, the number of steps separating Marco from the prince far too low to his liking but high enough that his arms started hurting from the weight of the tacking equipment. Drops of sweat from effort and stress ran unpleasantly over the brunette's forehead and down onto his eyebrows, threatening to fall into his eyes and blind him before he could reach his destination.  
But Marco arrived safely to the courtyard, his traitorous heart skipping a beat out of fear or something else when he spotted the nude back and two toned hair of the prince.

Jean was flanked by a guard holding a spear and a young bald slave holding a huge palm-tree leaf over the prince's head to make him shade. Marco hesitated a second, stopping in his tracks before he took a deep breath and approached the guard slowly.

“I am here to deliver the prince's effects” He stated while bowing his head low.

The prince turned his head upon hearing him, and Marco didn't try to avoid the tawny gaze that fell on him. Surprised flashed into Jean's eyes, quickly followed by a strange frown. The prince then looked away from the slave, his eyes falling back onto the sight he had been admiring before Marco's arrival.

The young slave followed Jean's gaze and let out a small gasp upon seeing the animal he had yet to notice.  
Standing proudly beside an old merchant dressed in a gray tunic was a huge black horse. The animal was at least 6 feet tall, and stood steady on his four legs, alert, ears flicked forward and nostrils quivering. Its coat was shining, beautiful under the burning sun, its color darker than the night's sky but failing to hide the powerful muscles flexing underneath. Only its head was spared by the overall darkness, a thin stripe of white snaking between its intelligent eyes and stopping just above its velvety nose.   
Marco was impressed, it was the first time he saw a horse from this close. And it was the first time he saw one so majestic. He stood there, mouth agape in awe, until the prince's voice brought him back to reality.

“Come on slave, don't stand there spoiling the air and tack the horse!”

It took Marco a few seconds to realize the order was addressed to him, since the prince had obviously decided to stop calling him by his name. Not that he minded.   
But when he did understand what he was asked to do, he could only look towards Jean with helpless eyes.

“But I don't know how to-” He started answering before he was cut short by the voice of the old merchant, saving him from his troubles.   
“My prince, let me tack him for you, the stallion can be a little... vigorous.” he said, his eyes traveling from Jean to Marco.

The prince nodded in agreement and the merchant took hold of all the equipment in Marco's arms in a hurry before he set to putting it on the black stallion, making quick work of it. The brunette was impressed by the old man's strength and technique.   
When he was done, the merchant bowed, signaling with his hand that the prince could finally ride the dark horse. 

Jean approached the slightly tramping animal, grabbed a handful of its long dark mane and hauled himself up onto the stallion's back with ease, making the animal jerk its elegant head upwards at the sudden weight. The prince's arm must be a lot stronger than Marco expected.   
The brunette squinted his eyes, trying to inspect Jean's muscles more carefully, but his observation was short lived as the prince spurred his mount, making the stallion rear a little before it set into a powerful gallop. The pounding of the horse's hooves on the dry ground lifted a cloud of dust in front of the slaves, making it impossible to see Jean's riding feats for a few seconds. 

But when it cleared, Marco watched the rider and its mount moving, amazed by the grace with which the animal galloped and even more impressed by the way Jean followed its thundering pace.  
A huge smile was splitting the prince's face which was merely visible behind the thick black mane dancing in the wind, as he coaxed the stallion into going faster, perfectly controlling the direction and the pace of the gallop. It was the first time Marco saw such an honest smile on the prince's lips; he was more used to the wry smirks honestly.   
It was unbelievable how a smile could change a person's face, in this case making Jean's angular and severe features look younger, softer.  
The brunette couldn't avert his eyes from the beautiful sight in front of him. He even felt a pang of disappointment when Jean progressively slowed the horse's speed, ending his trial and coming to a smooth stop in front of the merchant. The prince then dismounted, his feet colliding noisily with the ground, a pleased smile still on his face while he patted the snorting horse's neck with satisfaction.

“You're right” Jean addressed the merchant, voice filled with more emotion than Marco had ever heard, almost singing with joy “He's all that you promised, I haven't seen a finer horse in all of Egypt!” He exclaimed excitedly, his hand gently, almost lovingly stroking the stallion's refined nose.

“I'm glad your highness is pleased” The merchant said, bowing low “But there is still one more matter...” He added while gesturing toward a small table where a bronze scale rested, a few metal weights already on its left side, making it tilt.

“Ah, yes, as we agreed” Jean answered, regretfully leaving the stallion's side to reach the table.

The prince recovered a small leather purse filled with silver coins that was hooked onto his belt, gently placing it on the right side of the old rusty scale, making it move. After a few seconds of swinging, the two trays stopped, however not exactly on the same level, the right side higher than the left.  
Jean frowned.

“Um... I thought I brought the right amount.” He wondered.

“You are busy my prince, anyone can make mistakes” The merchant reassured, bowing again, so low it was almost comical.

But to Marco, something wasn't quite right. First, even if Jean was incredibly annoying, he didn't strike him as careless. Moreover, the prince was probably educated enough to not get a count wrong. Then he noticed the merchant was sweaty, and fidgety, like something was stressing him. It could all be just a result of the burning sun, but Marco didn't believe so. And finally there was the shady state of the balance.   
The brunette wasn't sure he was up to something; the merchant was maybe just anxious to be dealing with royalty, especially given the prince's reputation. But his instinct was telling him this old man couldn't be trusted. So after Jean gave the man a few more silver coins, and the two went back to the black stallion, Marco discretely came closer to the table.   
He inspected the scale, rubbing his chin in thoughts. Then, he proceeded to put the weights and purse away from it and...

_Eureka!_

The empty scale was heavily tilting to the left, the right trail obviously lighter than the left one. Marco smiled at his find.

“My prince, I think you should see this!” He proudly exclaimed.

Jean's head snapped to Marco, surprised, his sharp eyes leaving the black stallion to fall onto the rigged scale. The smile he had worn for the last minutes quickly left his face with no trace of coming back. His eyes darkened, angry fire burning into them when he looked back to the merchant in fury, the heat of his gaze making the old man squeak in fear, not unlike a little mouse facing a feline predator.

“I-I... Euh..It's-It's broken, I swear I didn't know anything about it my prince” The merchant stuttered, trying to defend himself.

The fire in Jean's eyes grew cold, icing as he came dangerously close to the man, teeth greeted. Marco swore it was like seeing an animal baring its teeth at the merchant.

“Of course you didn't know, you're a busy man! Anyone can make mistakes!” Jean spat “And yours is going to cost you your freedom!” He added venomously. “Guard, seize this man and throw him into the darkest and deepest dungeon. I never want to see his sneaky rat face again.”

The guard promptly obeyed, catching the trembling merchant by the arm and mercilessly dragging him away.

“No please, keep the horse! Please my prince, accept it as a gift! I have even more horses if you want, they're all yours but please let me go!” The man begged, eyes starting to water.

Jean turned back to him one last time, his body now trembling with rage.

“No” He answered coldly “Take him away.” 

The merchant fell silent but continued struggling in vain into the guard's iron grip. 

Marco's stomach clenched at the sight of the man getting dragged away. He was proud for uncovering the scam, but he still felt bad for the merchant. His sentence was harsh, he would probably never see the sun again. And it was a life nobody deserved. 

_That's what you get for upsetting the prince_

Marco gulped at that thought.

The brunette's chocolate eyes fell back on Jean.   
His muscles were still twitching with wrath and his lips were set on a hard line. It was no time to talk to him and Marco was about to leave the courtyard, escaping the potential the fallout of Jean's anger, when the other slave, who was obviously very brave or very dumb, approached the prince, asking him what should be done with the horse.

Jean's angry face fell, the fire in his eyes weakening, letting place to sadness. Marco could tell the prince was conflicted. It took him long seconds to finally answer.

“I don't want it. I can't keep a horse taken from a thief.” He answered lowly, dismissing the slave with a quick hand gesture.

Marco's heart sank upon hearing this answer. It was clear from Jean's intonation that he was making this decision reluctantly. It was probably something about honor or some other royal idiocy. The brunette almost felt angry at the prince for depriving himself from something that made him so happy minutes ago.  
As the bald slave led the horse away, the expression on Jean's face was too painful to watch. He looked so distressed, almost like one would if a loved one was being snatched away from them and Marco couldn't bear to see this. The brunette's feet moved on their own, bringing him closer to the prince.

“My prince, please keep the horse. You said it was the finest in all of Egypt.” Marco said softly, whispering in fear a voice too loud would make the prince's anger return in a glimpse.

Jean sighed, shoulders slumping.

“I can't. I can't possibly own a horse taken from a thief.” He answered slowly, his voice equally low. He didn't sound convinced by his own words, like he was just reciting a well learned lesson.

The prince's eyes were following the horse's figure as it was taken away from him and Marco couldn't help but smile a little at his sudden fragility.

“That man was indeed a thief, but that doesn't make the horse one. It is a beautiful animal and I personally think only you are worthy of riding it.” Marco continued, the praise escaping him before he could think about it twice. He almost wanted to touch Jean's small looking figure as he talked. His palm would probably almost cover Jean's narrow shoulder if he did. “You looked so pleased when you were on its back.”

He didn't know why he was doing this. Why he was trying to make the boy who treated him like a mere object happy?  
For a reason unknown to him, he just couldn't stand seeing sorrow on Jean's regal face. Moreover, Marco couldn't forget the way the prince rode the animal, his body moving with the gigantic black figure just like they were one entity. And the smile on his face at that moment he couldn't forget either.  
The corners of Jean's mouth curled up a bit at the mention of his ride on the stallion, good memories probably flowing back to his mind. He looked up to Marco, his tawny eyes shining with something the brunette couldn't quite pin down. Could he possibly be thankful?

“Alright, you've convinced me Marco, I'll keep it.” Jean calmly said, a warm little smile on his thin lips.

Marco shivered at the use of his name. He was so used now to being called “slave” most of the time that hearing it felt almost... intimate.

“By the way, you did a great job back there, without you I would have been totally swindled by this bastard.” The prince added, straightening up into a more confident posture than the one he had been in before. Little flickers of light came back to his eyes and he seemed pleased. “I owe you.”

Marco flushed at that. He didn't know what to say, but at least for once he felt comfortable near the prince, not feeling an ounce threatened or afraid. He was seeing a side of Jean he never expected and it was nice. He remembered his mother saying something about people never being entirely bad. It seemed she was right.  
The brunette smiled at Jean and he smiled back, eyes softly burning, not willing to leave Marco's deep brown ones.

“I'll have to find a way to reward you.” Jean whispered, taking a step forward, his face getting closer to Marco's, their noses almost touching “You should look forward to it.” He added, voice suave, full of hidden meanings and his hot breath tickling the brunette's face, making his breathing stop.   
Jean then moved away and head back inside, turning back just once to playfully wink at the petrified slave he just left.

Marco's blush deepened, his body suddenly feeling extremely hot under the morning sun.

Forget what he just thought, there was no way he would ever be comfortable near this perverted prince.

–--------

The rest of Marco's day was rather uneventful. It was spent in the usual buzzing of the kitchen, an atmosphere that had become comfortable and reassuring to the brunette.  
The sun was slowly setting as the kitchens started to empty, the cleaning and tidying up following dinner almost done. Soon only Marco and Bertholdt were left, still engrossed in wiping the few remaining clean glasses while actively chatting about their respective day.  
Bertholdt was just telling Marco how glad he was that Reiner got to spend the day in the vineyards pressing the grapes instead of the punishing quarries when two silhouettes appeared in their field of vision.

Bertholdt gasped, almost dropping the glass he was wiping and Marco fell silent.  
Jean walked towards them, head held ridiculously high, shoulders rolling, like he was trying too much to be taken seriously. His cheetah was following at his side, the animal's paw's not even making a sound on the wooden floor, it's gait effortlessly more elegant than his master's tensed one.   
When the prince and his pet stopped, only a small table was separating them from the two baffled slaves.   
The cheetah yawned, making Bertholdt jump and step behind Marco, finding comfort into his friend's apparent calm. Marco looked indeed calm on the outside, but inside his mind was racing. 

What did Jean want again? Was he going to resume his constant visits to the kitchen? Or had this visit got something to do with the reward he talked about in the morning?  
Marco flushed at that last thought, Jean's soft voice echoing into his head. No, it wasn't time to think about how close he had been and how strangely promising he had sounded. He had to focus.

Focus.

Jean cleared his throat, trying to get the slaves' attention. Bertholdt turned his eyes away from the cheetah and Marco's wandering mind came back to the present. 

“I have thought all day about the reward I promised you Marco, and I think I found the perfect one.” Jean started when he was sure the slaves were ready to listen to him. “I will give you the stupendous honor of becoming my personal slave.” He continued, smiling, obviously pleased with his decision.

Bertholdt's mouth dropped open in surprise, wide eyes looking from the immobile Marco to the prince multiple times, until his head starting spinning.

Marco's brain stopped functioning. This was not what he expected and this was especially not what he had hoped for when he convinced Jean to keep the horse. He almost wish he had thrown his stupid thoughtfulness away and let the merchant rob the prince. He was probably too rich to have been bothered by it anyway.

Jean took Marco's lack of response for stupefaction and his dead fish eyes for some kind of positive shock.

“I know it is a huge promotion for a mere kitchen slave, but don't thank me, it is my pleasure.”

The way he pronounced the word “pleasure” was too intense to be good.

Marco wanted to run away. He didn't want to be Jean's personal slave, whatever it implied. He was at ease in the kitchens, with Bertholdt and all the other slaves, with the fruits and vegetables and spices; with the cooking pots and wine jugs.   
He wasn't ready for another change of environment and he especially wasn't ready to put up with the spoiled and often rude prince all day. Just when this morning he thought he was done dealing with him...

An uncomfortable silence had settled inside the kitchens, Jean's smile slowly fading and Bertholdt worriedly eying his still frozen friend.

“I'll give you a few minutes to recover from this life changing announcement.” Jean broke the silence again, his voice clearly less confident than it was before, starting to understand his reward wasn't as appreciated as he hoped it would be. “But don't take too long, your new job starts now and I need you in my bedroom to help me get ready to sleep.”

The prince then called back his cheetah and left as quickly as he came.

 

Marco took a huge breath, feeling like it still wasn't enough to fight the feeling of void in his lungs. His knees gave out and he let himself fall onto the bench resting just behind him, his bottom hurting when it met the wooden surface with too much force. He whined from the pain in his backside and from the frustration he was currently experiencing. Tears of said frustration started filling the corners of his eyes and he quickly covered his face with his hands, groaning incoherent swear words.  
Bertholdt slowly sat beside him, reaching his hand towards Marco before deciding against it and resting it on his lap. They stayed quiet, the taller lanky slave waiting for his friend to be ready to talk again.

“I don't want to go.” Marco finally breathed out.

In any other circumstance these words would have sounded like a child's caprice, but Bertholdt understood how Marco felt. He himself wouldn't have wished for such a traitorous promotion, and he was sad at the thought of losing his work partner.  
However, Bertholdt still tried to comfort the other slave, raking his brains in search of the few advantages that this situation could bring.

“I'm sure it's not going to be as bad as you think.” He started, voice gentle “You'll probably just have to follow Jean around and do a few things for him, that's all.”

“That's exactly what I'm afraid of, the _'few things'_ ” Marco confessed, his cheeks burning at the thought of all the possible dirty things he could or couldn't imagine Jean asking of him.

Bertholdt sighed at his own helplessness.

“I know. But you already stood up to him twice, he must have understood now that you won't obey him that easily.” He soothed, trying to brighten up his friend's mood “And if the need arises, you can always threaten to castrate him just like Mikasa did.” The lanky slave attempted a joke, sweat trickling down his temples. He purposely avoided mentioning such an action could own him a one way ticket to the dungeons. 

Marco smiled a little. He knew when it came to comforting, Bertholdt was better with actions than words; he had witnessed it when he had tended to Reiner's back injuries. But still, he was thankful for his friend's efforts, even if they didn't change the fact that he would have to go soon. The sooner he went to Jean's chambers, the lower the chances he would get angry at him.  
The brunette knew he couldn't disobey the prince's order this time and while he kept asking the skies why he had to go through all this, he still gathered his courage, biding Bertholdt farewell for now and then getting up to head with reluctant steps to the lion's den.

–---------

The door to Jean's room felt heavier than the first time Marco pushed it, his hand slightly trembling under it, with apprehension and vivid memories. Although this time, his knocking had been answered by a low “Come in”.

As soon as he entered, the young slave turned his back to the room's occupant to busy himself with closing his only escape route behind him. After doing so, Marco stayed still, not wanting to turn back and face the prince.   
Indeed, the brunette had seen Jean sprawled onto his huge bed upon entering the room, and he wasn't too keen on discovering what he wanted from him. It is Kiya, Jean's cheetah's low growl that made him finally turn back, his eyes searching the room to spot the predator.  
The weirdly speckled animal was sprawled onto a big maroon cushion embroidered with golden threads, its head resting on its paws lazily, dark circled eyes fixed on Marco. The slave tried to not hold its stare for too long, in fear it would offend the beast. But still, he couldn't help but notice that the cheetah's sleeping arrangements, even if it was sleeping the floor, were probably far more comfortable than his own ones.  
The slight rustling of sheets caught Marco's attention. Jean had just gotten up, crossing his arms over his chest while he shushed his pet. The brunette noticed that all his jewels were gone, discarded for the night, leaving the prince's pale torso and arms completely bared. He seemed even skinnier this way. His ribs were showing and Marco was sure he could encircle his wrist completely with one of his hands. Jean cleared his throat, and Marco noticed he was staring. He quickly averted his gaze, a blush creeping to his cheeks.

“Like what you see?” Jean asked, a cocky grin on his lips.

Marco noticed he wasn't wearing any eyeliner. It made his eyes softer, the black color of make up not enhancing their golden light, making them less dangerous. That's perhaps what made Marco dare to answer.

“Not that much.” 

He didn't regret his boldness when he saw the look on the Prince's face. It was a priceless mixture of surprise and shock, as if he had just seen a white alligator.  
Marco tried to hold back his laughing, because he knew he could be in big trouble for making fun of the prince. However a small giggle still escaped him, his hand coming over his mouth too slowly to stop it.   
Surprisingly Jean smiled at the sound, his pride apparently not as hurt as Marco thought it would be.

“I didn't picture you to be the funny type Marco. You are full of surprises.” Jean stated, his grin widening before suddenly fading, a frown inexplicably replacing it “But don't think you can mock me whenever you please. I offered you a promotion but you are still a slave. And I am to be respected.”

Marco's smile fell too. It was strange how Jean had gone from seemingly relaxed to withdrawn into himself, hiding behind pride and big words in a matter of seconds. The brunette was about to apologize for his behavior but the prince was quicker, clapping his hands together once.

“Now, enough talking.” He ordered “Take off your clothes.”

It was Marco's turn to be shocked. What kind of order was that? Well, seeing the way the prince acted towards him since he arrived, he should have seen it coming. He shouldn't have been fooled by the prince's slovenly appearance or even by his apparent fragility in the morning; he was still on to the same thing. Even though the brunette thought he made it clear more than once by his actions and words that he wouldn't obey this kind of perverted orders.   
Just when he had started feeling more relaxed around him, not scared anymore... He would not let himself be bothered again.

“Why would I do that?” He asked, playing the clueless card. But honestly, he really didn't understand why he should get naked at this particular moment.

Jean frowned, obviously displeased.

“Because I order you to!” He blurted, exasperated “Please don't make this more complicate than it already is.”   
The prince sighed tiredly before he brought two fingers to his chin, idly drumming on it. “Although you could keep them, but I'd prefer for you to discard them...” He pondered, mumbling to himself, eyes lost in thoughts.

Marco looked at him questioningly. Who knew what was going on into the prince's head at that moment. Probably a bunch of unholy stuff that the brunette refused to consider. He needed to make things clear, and he needed to do it quickly.

“Excuse me, but what is it exactly that you want from me?” he asked, hiding his apprehension behind irritation, not even bothering with the polite use of “my prince”.

Jean's gaze fell back onto the freckled slave and his answer was blunt.

“You're going to get on your knees for me and pleasure me. It helps me fall asleep.” The prince stated as if it was obvious, as if engaging in sexual activities was a regular slave task, not different from washing the dishes.

Marco's jaw would have dropped but his muscles froze too quickly to allow it. How could the prince expect such thing from him? It was too intimate, and they barely knew each other. Did he think Marco as some sort of sex worker? Well he wasn't and this task may not have bothered other slaves, but the brunette definitely didn't want to complete it, prince or not.  
There was no way he was doing this, even if it owned him a stay in the dungeon, even if it owned him a death sentence. He would rather die with his integrity than lower himself to such filthy actions. Kneeling in front of that arrogant prince? There was no way it was happening, he would rather be thrown in the dungeons again.

“No, I am not.”

The answer left no place to discussion and Jean understood it quickly. Marco wasn't the only one who remembered their confrontation during the banquet.   
The brunette still braced himself, ready to face the prince's imminent anger. However the fire never came. Instead of raising his voice, Jean groaned.

“Come on, it's no big deal. I can't sleep otherwise.” He whined, trying to convince his now personal slave.

Marco couldn't believe the prince was almost begging for it. It was unbelievable but it seemed like he had the upper hand on this argument. With nothing threatening him, he reiterated his refusal.

“I said no.”

“Fine, using your hand will suffice.”

“No.”

Jean let out a desperate little whine and let himself dramatically fall on his back onto his comfy mattress. He was acting like a spoiled kid, although kids don't usually have this kind of requests, pouting at Marco and eyes pleading. But the brunette stood his ground, not moving an inch, his arms crossed in front of his chest as he was trying to conjure a sever look into his usually soft brown eyes.

“If you want someone to help you with this matter, just call Eren, I don't want anything to do with it. And if this is all you want a personal slave for, then I decline your promotion.” Marco blurted, his sudden bravado refusing to leave him.

Jean definitely wasn't used to being refused something, but when Marco thought he would find anger in the tawny gaze he met, he only found disappointment and a strange form of what he would call sadness.

“But I don't want Eren anymore. I want you.” 

Marco's heart skipped a beat, his throat suddenly dry. These were powerful words and although they were terrifying, they were also strangely flattering. It clearly sounded like a child's caprice, however the softness in Jean's tone and the look in his deep golden pupil convinced Marco that there was something more to it, a deeper matter yet to be uncovered.

“I am not an object, you can't ask me to do whatever you want just because I am a slave.” The brunette explained, this time not revolted, stating what was obvious to him, but not to the prince. “Besides, if you “had me”, you'd probably just grow tired after a while and then get rid of me like you are doing with Eren.” 

Indeed, he was sure even if Jean seemed to appreciate him a little (sadly probably for his looks only, but still), once the prince would have gotten what he wanted he would grow bored of him, quickly throwing him away, like a mere toy that wasn't fun anymore. Deep inside, Marco was slightly flattered to have piqued the interest of such a regal being, but it wasn't that surprising, for what Jean liked was what was new, and mostly what he couldn't have; just like the horse this morning. It was the share of one who always saw his desires materialize at the snap of the fingers. He would never be able to truly appreciate what he had anymore.

Jean looked away.

“Maybe.” Was his quiet answer “But maybe not. You are somehow... different.” He contemplated, absentmindedly observing one of his hands like he suddenly had a deep interest for it, the other resting behind his head.

Marco sighed, already tired of the prince's behaviour. But he couldn't find it in him to let him lay in his bed like sulking like a disappointed child. At least the prince had the decency and somewhat respect to not try and physically force him to do anything.  
He was way too nice, his mother often told him so; he knew it and he was sure it would be his end.

“There is no way I am doing what you ask of me. But still, if you really have troubles falling asleep, I can try to help you in my own way.” The brunette kindly offered.

Jean looked back at him, unconvinced.

“What are you gonna do, prepare me some kind of magic herb mixture? Because let me tell you the priest have already tried every single one of them with no success!” He exclaimed, flailing his arms dramatically over his two-toned head.

That was actually Marco's idea. He didn't dare say so; seeing the prince's reaction, he decided it wasn't such a good one. He doubted he could be better at it than the more educated priest. He had to find something else quickly.

“No, I'm going to...” Marco started without another idea in mind, racking his brains simultaneously in search for another solution. He was thinking so hard that he almost felt smoke escaping his overheating brain from his ears.

Then he thought of his mother.

“I'm going to tell you a story.” He finally stated, confident with his found.

Jean looked baffled, staying silent for a few seconds before he still protested.

“What do you think I am, a child?” He asked, annoyed.

“I think there is no need to be young to enjoy stories.” Marco answered calmly “My mother often told me wonderful ones when I couldn't sleep. About the stars mostly.” He smiled softly, relishing in the good memories before a pang of sadness assaulted him. His family was so far away.

Jean stayed quiet, his eyes lost in thoughts, a grave expression on his face. Maybe he was remembering too.

“Alright” He finally agreed, moving to a sitting position “But your story better be good” he added, grousing just for form's sake.

Marco smiled a bit at the prince's positive answer and courageously stepped towards the bed, slowly sitting on the edge, the mattress soft and thick but still creaking under his weight.  
Jean wriggled a bit, silently trying to find a comfortable position while Marco stayed seated beside him, his shoulders tensed, afraid the prince would take advantage of their proximity to suddenly grope him. But when the prince finally stopped moving, he was lying on the bed, one hand trapped between a fluffy pillow and his head and the other one resting along his thigh. His tawny eyes were on Marco, eyebrows raised expectantly, his eyes lacking any mischief.

The brunette felt his chest flush under the intense gaze mixed with the realization that he still hadn't decided which story he was going to tell Jean. He had to find as story that the prince would like, something he could relate to, for if he got bored, the young freckled slave would lose the only thing currently distracting Jean from his usual cravings.  
He eyed the room in search of inspiration but found nothing. His palms began to sweat as Jean started tapping his fingers on his thigh, obviously getting impatient. Observing those long well manicured fingers, Marco remembered them gently stroking the dark velvety coat of the stallion he rode this morning. And this was it, he knew what story to tell. He cleared his throat a bit, feeling strange but relieved to be breaking the uncomfortable silence of the room.

“A long time ago, in the sands of a great desert lived a man named Ahmed and his tribe.” Marco's voice was trembling a bit, coming low and soft with the anxiety that the prince wouldn't like his telling. “His most prized possession was a young grey mare who was renowned to be the fastest, finest and most beautiful horse the world ever witnessed.”

Seeing Jean was listening to him with focused eyes, he continued his narration more confidently.

“Ahmed took good care of his mare, and though she was coveted by all, he never once agreed to sell her. As his beloved mare grew older, Ahmed decided to breed her, and wandered the desert for years in search of a suitable mate.” Marco accentuated the word 'years', waving his arms in the air. “After he found it, the months passed and the time for the mare to foal grew near.”

From the corner of his eyes, Marco saw a slight smile on Jean's lips, encouraging him to continue. The slave took a more dramatic tone and began the next part of the story.

“However one night, Ahmed's tribe was attacked by bandits. He hurried to the stables to fetch his precious mare, jumping on her back and escaping with her.” Marco paused, shaking his head “But he knew well that the mare heavy with foal couldn't out distance the bandits. They were getting closer and closer to them.”

Jean was now gripping the sheets tight into his free hand, completely absorbed in Marco's tale.

“Then the impossible happened; the mare started lengthening her strides, and slowly, very slowly, she began to gain ground on her pursuers.” Jean's smile widened, but the story wasn't over “Still, the angry bandits didn't give up and one of them threw his spear at Ahmed, hitting him right in the heart, making him fall forward over the neck of his beloved mare” Marco said hastily while smashing one of his hands over his own heart, making Jean gasp.

After a few seconds of silence, letting the impact of the main character's death sink in, the brunette resumed his narration.

“Even with her dear master dead, the mare never slackened her stride, carrying him back to safety on their final ride together.” Marco could see Jean biting his lips, his eyes a bit watery, glistening in the dim light of the candles. “When Ahmed's people found the mare, they removed her master's body from her back, his blood leaving a brown nasty stain that none could ever remove on the horse's splendid coat. And that night, the mare finally foaled, giving birth to a splendid foal, perfect specimen of the arabian breed, but with on its shoulders the same rusty marks as his mother.” 

Marco took time to breath while Jean rubbed his eyes from either sleep or tears or both and then he softly finished his tale, eyes lost in the vague.

“And so it came to pass that every great horse descending from the courageous little mare would carry the mark of the bloody shoulder.”

Silence fell back onto the room and Marco anxiously turned to Jean.   
The prince was still watching him with blurry eyes, half closed, unfocused and tired. He was breathing slowly, a small smile gracing his thin lips. After a few seconds of losing himself into Marco's gaze, he yawned, finally closing his eyes completely.

“That was a good story” He whispered, nuzzling his pillow.

And to Marco's surprise, Jean stopped talking, his face and body quickly relaxing into sleep.   
The brunette watched him for a while, observing his steady and deep breathing, before finally getting up, trying to be as quiet as possible. Although the freckled slave knew that he stared at the prince's sleeping face a bit too long to be just checking if he was really asleep, he couldn't help but notice that Jean looked peaceful while asleep, his usual frown gone, making him seem younger, weaker and unconsciously Marco smiled at the sight in front of him.

It is with this smile on his face and a feeling of warmth inside him that he left the prince's chambers, slowly closing the huge door, leaving Jean to his dreams of thundering hooves and pretty little horses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you didn't notice, the horse sale is heavily inspired from a scene taken from "Joseph king of dreams". Am I a bad person for using a scene from a christian movie for a gay fanfiction? Maybe there will be a special place in hell for me...
> 
> While writing about the horse Jean was riding, I thought of Titan from "No Reins" by [MonoclePony](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MonoclePony/pseuds/MonoclePony). If you haven't read this fic, please do, it is truly amazing.
> 
> The bloody shouldered mare tale has lots of versions but this is the one I prefer (because I had a book about horse legends as a kid and it contained this version).  
> Marco telling stories to help Jean fall asleep is of course inspired from the arabian nights story.
> 
> I'll stop rambling now, sorry...


	5. Witness of Heka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit of a transition chapter and I'm not so satisfied about the pacing. I hope it will still be enjoyable to all of you...
> 
> Thanks for the comments, kudos, bookmarks, you guys are just awesome. I was so happy when I reached 1000 hits, to me it was unbelievable, so thank you!

The kitchen was slowly buzzing with the busyness of its workers. Fruity smells and thick white smoke from cooking pots filled the air as the slaves worked to prepare Pharaoh's breakfast. However, one of the usual diligent cooks was actually unoccupied.  
It felt strange for Marco to just watch and not do. Sitting on top of a table, he simply observed Bertholdt peal a few oranges, since his friend had refused he helped in any way.  
It was a rare occurrence that the brunette stayed idle like this, but today when he woke up at dawn out of habit (but also because of the noise the other slaves of the dorm made), he quickly went up to Jean's room, only to find himself standing in front of the door like an idiot. Indeed, he quickly realized the prince was probably still sleeping and he didn't know if he ought to wake him up or wait for him to get up to help him with whatever it was he did in the morning.

Back then, Marco had decided he would wait for Jean to wake up, spending time in the familiar place that was the kitchens, in the reassuring presence of his friend Bertholdt.  
He wished the prince had explained him a bit more what being his personal slave implied. He felt lost and was afraid he would do something wrong and attract the prince's wrath. 

“I know it's easier said than done but relax Marco.” Bertholdt gently advised as he got up to put his carefully sliced oranges away.

His lanky friend was right. Marco tried to stop fidgeting in his seat and rolled his shoulders in an attempt to relax his tensed muscles. Right now there was nothing to worry about. After all, why would Jean need him for before he even had breakfast?

 

Well Marco would probably be getting the answer to this question sooner than later, since a very disheveled and annoyed Jean was currently approaching him.  
Marco gulped at the sight, getting ready to take a morning temper tantrum from his prince. 

“Marco.” Jean started, his eyes full of severity “What do you think you're doing here?”

The brunette didn't know what to answer, and the frown on the prince's face indicated him that there was probably no good answer anyway. So he chose to stay silent, leaving an opening for Jean to unleash his irritation.

“I wake up and you're not even here? I dismissed my morning routine servants yesterday when I decided to make you my personal slave, so who do you think helped me get dressed and ready this morning!?” He fumed.

Yet again a question that didn't need an answer, the poor styling of Jean's rebel hair and they way his kohl was slightly smudged on the corner of his eyes was proof enough that he did everything himself.  
Still, Marco felt this lecture of sort was a bit unfair, for he was never informed of the precise tasks that composed his new job.

“Well, maybe if you had told me I had to be there, then I would have been.” He retorted with the bitter thought that a few minutes ago he had been stupid enough to worry about waking up the arrogant prince if he entered his room.

Jean snapped his head up, his frown deepening, his lips tightly shut in a hard line. Marco thought for a second that he was going to explode, but instead he ended up sighing, letting a hand run threw his unruly hair.

“I guess I should have known that what was obvious for me wasn't for you. You're just a slave after all.” He said, as if he was dealing with a mentally handicapped person.

Marco would have preferred he snapped at him. Now he felt frustrated, belittled by the word he came to despise so much.

Slave. 

It now sounded to his ears like a synonym of good for nothing, lower specie, and he hated it.

As much as he burned to reply to this offense, the brunette didn't get the chance to do so, whether it was in words or in acts, for Jean was already turning his back to him, telling him something about accompanying him to breakfast.  
The thought of refusing crossed Marco's mind for a split second but he didn't want to make a scene in the kitchens, not when he knew there were already so many rumors coursing the air alongside the numerous aromas. So the freckled slave followed the blond prince outside, trying to calm himself with deep slow breaths on the walk to the dining hall.

–----------

The walk was quiet. And it seemed that the more the tension from frustration left Marco's shoulders, the more it gained Jean's smaller ones. When he had calmed down, Marco could tell that the prince was getting visibly nervous. His steps were becoming slower and slower and he was almost dragging his feet. It was an unusual sight that the brunette didn't have time to question.

“Do I look alright?” Jean asked in a short breath, suddenly turning to him.

The question was even more unusual and rather unexpected, leaving Marco's mouth gaping open like a fish out of water. The brunette was never good with insincere compliments or empty praises, even though he knew most slaves used them blithely. However he couldn't say Jean looked bad, it would be an even worse lie.  
It was true that the prince had probably seen better days, but he was still elegant looking, with his perfectly fitting shendyt and his heavy, shining jewelery.  
Marco was afraid of the words that threatened to escape his throat; afraid his sincerity would reveal too much of his preoccupying opinion on the prince's looks. So he decided to stay silent while he stepped closer to Jean. 

The prince eyed him curiously, the nervousness in his tawny eyes letting place to uncertainty. Marco's hand stopped mid air when he thought Jean would back away from his touch, curling up into himself. But the prince didn't move. He kept his gaze locked on his personal slave's arm as the brunette started gently rearranging his messy bed-hair.  
To Marco's surprise, Jean's hair was soft. Its sandy color first made him think it would be coarse and rough, not unlike its owner could be at times, but it wasn't. The slave's finger played with the blond strands for a little longer than necessary, before he retreated, stepping back with a whispered: “I think you're good to go”.

Jean kept watching him, baffled, slowly running his own fingers through his locks to check Marco's work, careful not to undo any of it. The prince then nodded, a small blush inexplicably reaching his cheeks as he turned back to open the dinning hall's doors with a deep breath.

Jean was about to enter when he turned back to Marco, his frown back in place.

“What are you waiting for, come on.” He whispered to his immobile slave, gesturing for him to follow.

“But what am I supposed to do?” The brunette asked, also whispering, although not quite sure why he felt the need to.

Jean rolled his eyes in a dramatic motion, like he was desperate with Marco's ignorance.

“You follow me, you take out my seat for me and then you stand beside me while I eat.” He quickly explained before adding an annoying “It's simple, it's just what slaves always do.”

Marco wanted to point that he never had anyone serving him so he couldn't know what slaves usually did, but he didn't have time for it as he hurried after Jean who was already entering the large dinning hall.

Even to take his breakfast, Pharaoh always seemed to think big. Marco held Jean's chair as he sat at the end of a ridiculously long wooden table. Said table could easily serve in a dinner of at least ten guests, but it was currently used by only two, Jean sitting at one end, and his father at the far other end.  
In his old age, Pharaoh better not be deaf, for he wouldn't hear a word his son spoke. Unless it was the purpose he was indeed trying to achieve with sitting so far away from Jean.  
Marco was sure not many slaves would ever be able to see their sovereign as he saw him at that moment. His attire was a lot simpler than it had been on the banquet the other night. He wore a plain white tunic and traded his stripped Nemes for the Pschent that united the crowns of both Egypts. The white Hedjet of the upper Egypt on his head was imbricated into the red Decheret symbolizing the lower northern Egypt. But even in this more casual outfit, Pharaoh still exuded authority and wisdom, making Marco wonder if he could stay up beside Jean's chair without his legs giving up under the sovereign's strong glare.

Trying to distract his mind from the powerful, almost godly being in front of him, the brunette let his eyes wander to the numerous plates filling the table. It was clear two people would never be enough to eat their contents. In Marco's humble opinion, the choice of food for the two royalties was unnecessary high.  
There was milk that seemed so creamy it made the brunette lick his lips in envy and also a myriad of fruits, mostly unknown to the yet educated slave, including dates that Jean had already fixed his choice on, feeding only on the brown sweetness with a content smile. It was obvious that they were his favourites. The thought of knowing a bit of the prince's habits was making Marco's chest feel disturbingly warm, and he didn't like it.  
He didn't want to appreciate Jean, even though his naturally kind temper kept telling him to give the boy a chance. But he feared having to be by the prince's side would make it hard to not ending up understanding him a little bit better. Or maybe ending up murdering him. He didn't know which one was the worst, but he didn't like the thought of not being in control (or more like even less in control) of the future events. 

“So, what are your plans for today my son?” Pharaoh's deep voice echoed in the almost empty room, pulling Marco out of his dangerous train of thoughts.

Jean quickly looked up from his plate, hastily swallowing a mouthful, his face visibly flustered.

“Well, I thought I could ride the stallion I bought yesterday.” He answered almost shyly.

Pharaoh seemed to ponder the idea, his lips moving to form a strange grimace.

“I don't know, Nick told me he heard from your preceptor that you struggled with the 'Instruction of wisdom'. I'd prefer you devote your day to working on it. It is after all the most important part of your education.” The sovereign finally let out his opinion, that was in reality more of an order.

“But father!” Jean protested, more with sadness than anger, his weak disenchanted voice making Marco sorry for him in spite of himself.

“I'll have your preceptor fetched right after you finish your breakfast. And that is my last word.” Pharaoh calmly but authoritatively closed the conversation. 

There was no place to discussion, even Marco could feel it. An uncomfortable silence filled the room, making the brunette even more ill-at-ease with the situation, nervously shifting his weight from one feet to the other.  
But the tensed situation soon came to an end as Jean, who had stopped eating and slouched in his chair from disappointment, suddenly decided to get up, quickly fleeing the dinning hall.  
Marco hastily followed the prince's steps, carefully closing the massive doors behind him so they wouldn't slam with the brute force Jean opened them with, and left the sovereign in the huge room, alone with his meal.

–----------

Marco quietly followed Jean in the series of endless marble corridors that lead to where he supposed the prince's personal lessons were held. The brunette stayed quiet as Jean's angry stomping steps echoed between the large sculpted walls, alongside the prince's mumbling.  
Marco couldn't quite hear every detail of it, but he still caught a few “stupid morals and ethics”, “annoying priest” and other much more colorful words that his father would probably pale upon hearing. The young slave was a bit amused by the prince's childish attitude, but he was mainly envious, for Jean didn't seem to appreciate how lucky he was to be able to receive what was probably the best of the best education.

Marco was very tempted to know what this 'Instruction of Wisdom' was; what new intriguing concepts it could hold. His thirst for knowledge was still ever-present, and he couldn't quite quench it with his scattered little trips to the yet colossal library.  
His dreams of books and old parchments made him lost his touch with reality, his legs walking on, working on their own. At least until he collided with Jean's back, his nose hitting the prince's head violently. The brunette's hand quickly got to his hurt nose, hissing in pain as he touched it.

“For the love of Râ, watch where you're going!” Jean exclaimed, one hand rubbing the back of his head while his other hand formed a fist, clenching and unclenching in an attempt to calm himself.

Marco thought that in his actual state Jean would take it out on him right there in front of his study room. His frown was so deep that its shadow made his eyes darker, almost black. Marco gulped.

But surprisingly the prince only let out a long exhale, his hands falling to his sides before he breathed out a low: “Wait here.”  
And before the brunette could protest, the prince disappeared into yet another room of the huge palace.

–----------

Marco didn't know how long he would have to wait, nor did he know how long he waited already, but what he knew was that his legs were screaming for him to move, the standing still position more tiring than he imagined.  
Leaning up against the wall across the study's door, he felt like some kind of animal having to wait for its owner to come back, with nothing else to do but hope he wouldn't take too long. That's a feeling Marco didn't appreciate. Doing nothing was never something he liked, except maybe when it was in the comfortable warmth of his bed in the cold mornings of winter, when he was woken up at dawn by the sheep's bleats. But right now he could be doing much more self-fulfilling things, instead of just standing there.

A sigh left his parted lips. He wondered if he could make a short trip to the library and be back before Jean got out.  
However he couldn't materialize this project as his attention was caught by the lean tan boy that just appeared around the corner of the corridors maze. Marco quickly recognized Eren, even though he wasn't wearing his usual dance outfit, but instead a simple short and worn-out shendyt. It seemed like Eren recognized him too, his bright topaze eyes stopping on the brunette in time with his steps.

The dancer flashed a perfectly white smile at Marco, standing in front of the freckled slave with his arms crossed while his mischievous gaze traveled up and down his body. It made the brunette uncomfortable, his eyes quickly falling to the floor.

“So I hear you're Jean's new pet.” Eren started mater-of-factly “I believe we've never been properly introduced, the name's Eren.” he added, extending a calloused hand.

Marco took it weakly, wincing a little at Eren's strong grip and lot at the word “pet”.

“Marco.” He just answered, unsure what the other boy wanted with him.

Eren's grin widened at the brunette's shyness.

“Don't worry, I'm not mad you took my job, rather I'm thankful.” he reassured Marco's unavowed anguish. “At first it was fun fooling around with Jean, but when your name's not the one being screamed while you put all your efforts into blowing the guy's brains out, it hurts a little.” He continued, feigning sadness by shedding an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye.

Marco's face turned bright red at Eren's crude language. A wave of feelings and images came rushing to his face alongside what seemed to be all the blood in his body. He was burning and he was positive he was about to faint.  
His face must have been quite a sight because it caused Eren to let out a booming bright laugh.

“No hard feelings Marco, I'm sure Jean is _very happy_ to have you now.” The dancer said, his voice still singing with laughter while he clapped Marco's shoulder, making the brunette jump.  
He then leaned closer to him, his lips close to the freckled slave's ear. “To show you I'm a nice guy, I'll even give you a little piece of advise” he whispered seriously, just like he was ready to share the most protected secret of a famous magic trick. “Jean melts when you suck hi-”  
Marco didn't give him time to finish, feeling the time to clarify things had come. He didn't want any advise on how to sexually please Jean because he wasn't going to.  
That's what he almost angrily told Eren, pushing the boy away from him.  
These egyptians really had a problem with personal space.

The dancer's azur eyes widened at Marco's sudden outburst.

“Then if you didn't do anything, how did you get him to fall asleep?” He asked, staggered.

Marco licked his lips, uneasy under Eren's curious gaze.

“Well I-” He stuttered “I told him a story.” He paused “About horses.”

Marco realized how simple and childish it sounded now that he said it out loud.  
Eren stayed silent for a few uncomfortable seconds before his bright laugh came thundering again, so powerful the boy had to clutch his aching stomach. The freckled brunette watched him laugh to tears, stunned by the dancer's reaction.

“By Osiris Marco, you're actually something! Jean's been unable to sleep without someone at the very least cuddling him a bit, and you turn up and make the guy fall asleep just with a story about little ponies. That's hilarious!” Eren exclaims between unstopping fits of giggles.

Marco's blush deepened.  
Seen from this point of view it sounds as if he was privileged. But in his opinion he was just lucky such a simple strategy ended up working. He didn't know what he would have done come it failed.

Eren's laughter slowly came to an end and this time when he whipped his eyes, it was to get rid of real tears.

“I knew Jean was a sensitive little thing, but to think he was such a big baby...” He sighed content by his relaxing hilarity “Thanks Marco, you've brightened up my day!” 

Eren's smile was dazzling. Joy suited him, that was for sure.  
Marco returned his smile and they set into a now comfortable silence.

“I've gotta go, or else the midget will get angry at me again. And I don't want to risk being embalmed alive.” the young dancer joked, stepping away from Marco with a small wave.  
The freckled slave wondered who “the midget” was but let it pass up.

Before he disappeared around yet another corner, Eren turned back to him.

“A true advise this time.” He started more seriously “Jean isn't as bad as he seems. Praise him, compliment him, tell him how perfect he is and he'll turn as harmless as a kitten.” 

With these words and a little wink, Eren was gone.

–----------

Marco's stomach was growling when Jean finally got out of the study-room. The prince was running his hand through his hair for what was probably the umpteenth time, seeing how it had reverted back to the way it was before Marco styled it in the morning.  
Jean's tired eyes quickly fell on his slave, widening for a split second, like he was surprised the brunette really waited for him. His shoulders were slouched as he passed Marco, gesturing for him to follow while saying he needed a bit of fresh air.

–----------

The gardens of the palace was a place Marco never visited before; and as soon as he stepped into the first flowery path, he regretted he didn't come sooner. Following Jean into the empty, colorful maze, he clearly saw how much of a calm sanctuary it could be, even in the blazing heat of midday. The numerous flowers beds and trees were radiant, so well kept that their leaves didn't bow under the scorching summer sun.

Traveling in silence under the pleasant shade of fragrant orange trees, the prince and his slave soon reached a small artificial pond. Jean sat down on its edge, casually dipping his feet almost knee deep into the cool water. He then patted the spot beside him in a silent invitation for Marco to join him.  
The freckled slave obeyed, sighing contently at the cool sensation the water lavished on his burning skin. He then started leisurely moving his legs, sending little waves undulating on the clear water's surface.  
However he stayed careful not to cause too much turmoil, for he didn't want to damage the beautiful blue flowers populating the water's surface.  
Taking a look at Jean, Marco saw he was admiring those flowers too, with a hand under his chin and eyes far away, filled with a softening fondness.

They stayed quiet for a while, observing the pointed blue petals and the yellow heart of the flowers that were each more pleasant to the eye than the other.  
Still after some time, Marco, in his insatiable knowledge curiosity, turned to Jean with questioning eyes and dared asking what sort of flowers could grow like this in the water.

“Those are blue lotuses.” The prince answered, his lost gaze finally accepting to leave the aquatic plants “I'm not surprised you never saw any, as far as I know they only grow in the Nile.”

Marco nodded his head in understanding. He never imagined there could be real flowers growing into the water. All the vegetation there ever was in the lakes back home were long reeds and dirty weeds, far less appealing than the delicate lotuses.

“You may hear some people refer to them as 'water lilies' too. They are quite important in our culture, they're suppose to symbolize rebirth and regeneration, since they open in the morning and close at night.” Jean explained patiently “It is said the lotus' seed can sleep for a thousand years before blooming again.” He paused before adding thoughtfully “It's like they're immortal.”

Marco literally drank the prince's words as he continued sharing his knowledge of water lilies, switching to the tale of how the god Nefertem, who was was originally a blue lotus flower, had arisen from the primal waters of the Nile during the first sunlight, enchanting the god of sun Râ with his delightful smell. Jean's narration didn't have to envy Marco's story telling, for he was so involved in his subject, his eyes shining with passion with every word, that the brunette thought it was hard not to listen to him.

“You sure know a lot about flowers!” Marco praised with a bright smile once Jean was done with his amazing stories about simple water flowers.

The prince averted his eyes, his cheeks and neck reddening.  
“Just about lotuses.” He whispered with a hint of melancholy in his low voice.

Two thoughts struck Marco at that precise moment. First, Eren was right, Jean turned soft when he was complimented, and second, he was sure there was something more than just idle interest behind the prince's knowledge of water lilies. But he didn't dare break this peaceful moment by asking why.

Suddenly, the young slave's stomach growled again, breaking the comfortable silence. It was Marco's turn to blush. He was surprised when he caught a glimpse of Jean's unusually soft smile as the prince got to his feet, dusting himself off before heading to one of the orange trees.  
He grabbed two ripe fruits from it and skilfully tossed one in Marco's direction.  
Despite his surprise, the brunette easily caught it between his open palms, staring at Jean with wide eyes. He didn't question whether he was really allowed to eat a fruit from Pharaoh's garden for long, since the sovereign's son was already peeling fruit he held. Marco started doing the same with his own orange, quickly getting rid of the fruit's tough skin to finally be able to taste its juicy and refreshing flesh. 

The sweet treat was welcome in the slave's empty stomach and Marco let out a long sigh of content that ended up sounding more like a pleased moan. He blushed at the unexpected sound he produced, busying himself with eating to avoid Jean's burning stare.

But for once, the prince didn't make any uncalled for remark.

–----------

Jean wasn't a copious eater. And that was an understatement.  
Since the morning he only ate a few dates and an orange, and yet he never asked for lunch, seemingly not hungry at all. If he ate so few, Marco understood why he was so skinny.  
The brunette thought it wasn't healthy at all, but he kept his reflection to himself.  
Despite being obviously tired from his morning lessons, Jean had kept his calm during the whole period that followed their little escapade to the gardens, and the last thing Marco wanted was to fuel his short temper.

He had to admit the prince's company, when he was in this state, was not as unpleasant as he first thought. They chatted a bit, about architecture mostly, while endlessly walking the palace's corridors to meet Jean's appointments with teachers, nobles and other countless important people.

To Marco's surprise, the prince was actually quite busy. He was well educated, with pretty good conversation skills and studied a lot. But he also had to put in a token appearance in boring meetings where nobles talked about the pointless details of their idle and superficial existences.  
And as his slave, the freckled brunette had to stay with him at all times, standing beside his chair, immobile, while everyone else was sitting and stuffing themselves with the delicious dishes coming from the kitchens he used to work in.  
Marco was thankful he had taken Bertholdt's advise that morning and eaten a copious breakfast before Jean woke up. Otherwise, he would never have been able to go through the prince's tiring (and food lacking) day.

 

In the evening, Marco's feet were aching and his back was starting to get sore from staying up straight and tensed for hours. He was still young but he was feeling like a very old man when he followed Jean that evening into the huge hall where the party was held a few days ago.  
Taking the place into consideration, and then eying Jean from the corner of his eyes, he remembered the events of that night a few days ago, when he had opposed the prince's authority. He couldn't quite believe the boy he was following now, that knew strangely much about water lilies and had fallen asleep after listening to a story about horses, was the exact same one that had ordered him to dance for him (amongst other naughtier things Marco refused to think back about).

The hall was as crowded as it was back then, like all the palace's occupiers had been gathered there. Little did Marco know that it was indeed the case.

The freckled slave followed the prince as he made his way through the crowd, owning himself low bows and empty praises from the guests as he passed.  
The crowd was forming some sort of half-circle in front of a dozen steps of small stairs atop which stood two thrones. The first one, on the right had been trimmed from a massive and angular raw piece of marble stone while the second, though made of the same material was thinner, finely sculpted and looked more refined.  
Pharaoh, who was back to wearing his blue striped Nemes, as well as holding the traditional crook and flail, was already occupying the throne on the right. Seeing the king settled in this regal way, it struck Marco that he never saw the person who was supposed to sit on the sovereign's right side.  
Indeed, where was the queen? He never saw her since he arrived...

It is unsure of what he should do, and as much unsure of the cause of Jean's mother's absence, that the brunette followed Jean while he climbed the stairs, the prince unfazed by the strong gazes of the sovereign and its subjects.  
Jean then sat on the second throne, comfortably crossing his legs and resting his chin on his hand. This sitting arrangements made it implicitly clear to Marco that if there once was a queen, she probably wasn't of this world anymore, meaning the prince was missing a parent just like he did. It is with the pain of this discovery painted on his freckled face that the young slave stood beside Jean, who seemed to have more in common with him than he ever expected.

Suddenly the lights went out. The curtains of the numerous windows all closed at the same time, and a second silhouette split the crowd, lit only by the torch in its hand. It was the tall and old Priest Nick, clad in his usual revolting leopard fur coat. 

Spotting his slave's lack of understanding of the situation, Jean gestured for him to come closer. Marco obeyed still with brown eyes full of questions, bending so his head was at the same height as the prince's blond one.

“The Priest is going to retell Osiris' story. It's a bit like a spectacle so keep your eyes peeled, you might enjoy this.” The prince slowly whispered in his slave's ear, his breath tickling the brunette's skin.

Marco followed his advise and directed his gaze back to the Priest below while Jean shifted a bit in his seat, trying to get comfortable for the long spectacle.

The story of Osiris was, as far as Marco knew, a pillar of Egyptian culture, and it was part of the small knowledge of Egyptian mythology that his father passed on to him. The priest's tell was the same, although narrated with more details and a bit of staging. 

So it is with a proud and loud voice that Priest Nick told how Osiris, first pharaoh and first mummy, ounce ruler of Egypt, was brutally murdered by his brother Set, god of chaos and war, who the took his place on the throne after he dismembered him and scattered his body parts over the vast country. Osiris' faithful wife Isis, with the help of Nephthys, relentlessly mourned her husband and searched his body pieces. Once she recovered every single part of him, she asked Thot and Anubis to restore his body. Osiris was revived, but only temporarily, giving him just enough time to unite with his wife again, leading to the birth of the majestic Horus. 

As Horus name was pronounced, a falcon appeard from nowhere, soaring through the stunned crowd. The beautiful bird of prey came landing on the arm of Jean's throne, making the prince jump slightly. But soon he calmed down, plunging his tawny eyes into the bird's sharp and equally animalistic ones. He even dared raise his hand to softly stroke the animal's gleaming wings, smiling when the bird didn't seem to mind.  
Seeing the prince being so gentle and careful, Marco deduced with a small smile that he must like animals really much. And they seem to like him back.

His mother often said someone good with animals could never be a bad person...

 

The Priest's strange show continued long after he finished Osiris' story. The ceremony took a magic turn as the priest started reciting incantations and spells to bring good fortune to the people of Egypt. He prayed the gods for magnanimity, showering them with offerings that Marco noted mostly consisted of black and white things: milk from a black cow, blood from a black dog, a white lamp...  
The brunette kept watching with curiosity, even though he also noted that Jean had lost interest in the display long ago, too absorbed with paying attention to his new winged friend, now stroking under the proud falcon's beak with a curved finger.

In the end the crowd applause and the Priest bowed to them, bending even lower when he faced Pharaoh, who acknowledged him with a small nod of his head.  
Marco didn't really understand why these religious rites were displayed publicly. To him, preying was something personal, intimate, and not a form of entertainment. But he had to admit this difference of culture was fascinating.

As the crowd started slowly dismissing, Priest Nick climbed the stairs to the throne, stopping midway to give another ridiculously low bow to his sovereign.

“Excellent performance Nick, as usual.” Pharaoh praised “May the gods be as generous with the next harvest as with this one.”

“I am sure they will be even more generous next time your Highness.” Priest Nick answered, bowing yet again. “I saw a good omen for the future.”

Satisfied, Pharaoh elegantly nodded his head again, before he took his leave of his son and his priest. Flanked by two guards, his head still held high, he slowly disappeared in the small remaining crowd.

Nick's eyes then traveled to the young heir to the throne, a smile that held no joy reaching his lips when he spotted his tamed falcon, now perched on Jean's arm.

“The animal seems to like you my prince.” He said, trying to get Jean's attention.

The interested party looked away from his bird, coming back to reality with a small blush on his cheeks.

“I don't know, it is probably like this with everyone...” Jean denied, looking down, but hand still stroking the falcon's wings in a reassuring motion.

It was a surprise for Marco to see the prince calm and almost erased in front of the priest. He expected more pride and panache coming from him. Especially when he was making the exploit of keeping the bird on his arm without being teared up by its sharp claws. Maybe Jean just wasn't realizing what he was accomplishing.

“As much as I'd like to let you keep it, I'm afraid I'll have to take the animal back, my prince.” Priest Nick continued, in obviously faked apology “It would be a shame if the bird ended up hurting you in any way.” 

To Marco it didn't seem like Jean being hurt would sadden the priest in any way. But the prince agreed and reluctantly entrusted his new winged friend to a bald slave, who contrary to him, was wearing a leather glove to protect his arm.

“I heard you bought a horse yesterday, is it true?”

Jean's silent nod confirmed it, making the priest go on with his idle chatting.

“You really like animal's don't you? I guess you take it from your mother, may she rest in peace.”

Jean nodded again, eyes on the floor. So Marco's guess was right, the prince's mother had left this world just like his own father did. He wondered how long ago.

After a few more words, the Priest took his leave too, taking away the falcon, and with it Jean's good mood.

–----------

The prince didn't dine with his father that night. He asked Marco to bring to his room a basket of fruits, which ended up barely touched. The brunette was puzzled by Jean's eating habits, he told himself he would have to keep an eye on it, so the prince wouldn't starve himself to death. Even he didn't deserve it.

Unlike the prince, Marco couldn't skip so many meals in one day, which led him to take advantage of his trip to the kitchen to quickly have diner while Bertholdt kindly put the fruits together in the basket.

So it is full and satisfied that the freckled brunette sat beside the already lying down Jean on the prince's bed. They both settled down comfortably, neither questioning whether of not this evening needed another story. It was like in just two days the story telling had become a usual and necessary sleeping ritual, easily and naturally replacing its more tiring predecessor. 

Marco had all day to think of a new story, but he didn't need that much time, for he knew exactly which one to tell.  
And so, within less than an hour, Jean fell peacefully asleep upon hearing Marco's soft voice narrate the story of how Alexander the Great tamed his massive black horse Bucephalus, just by riding it towards the sun, to prevent it from being afraid of its own shadow.

After he made sure that the prince was sound asleep, Marco left the huge bed to lie down on the comfy sofa beside it. At first the brunette was a bit nervous about sleeping into Jean's bedroom, especially with Kiya being there too.  
The cheetah was currently sleeping. But it didn't make her falling and rising speckled back less impressive. Marco tried to ignore her, hoping she was fed better than her master so she wouldn't feel the need to munch him during the night.  
Relaxing into the most comfortable makeshift bed he had for weeks, Marco closed his eyes and tried to think about more pleasant things. 

Nephtys quickly took him into her arms, the kind goddess smiling upon seeing the brunette's dreams were filled with colorful and sweet-scented water flowers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the story about Alexander the Great may be a little bit anachronistic, but I liked it too much and I didn't decide in which egyptian period the story took place so let's say it's okay! 
> 
> Flowers and animals are a big weakness of mine, I hope the place I give them in the story isn't too big, and I hope the narration isn't too simple and boring, I'm still struggling a bit with my writing style (I'm not a native english speaker so sometimes it's difficult...).
> 
> Next time, more action, and also a naked Jean ;)


	6. Saved by Mafdet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness, I think this is the longest chapter so far.
> 
> Like I promised, a little bit of naked Jean awaits you! :)
> 
> Thanks you thank you thank you to everyone who commented, gave kudos or bookmarked, it really means the world to me and it boosts me so much, you can't imagine!
> 
> I hope you will enjoy this chapter, there is a bit of action in it, and you could call the beginning of troubles...

The black mane of the stallion was dancing in the pinkish glow of dusk, its powerful galloping form like a blur in the fading light. Jean was smiling on its strong back, following the animal's flowing movements with ease, so concentrated that he was indifferent to the two pair of eyes watching him.

Marco had to use his hand as a shield to be able to keep admiring the couple, which was now racing towards the slowly setting sun. He smiled as he felt like he was the witness of one of his stories; the prince on his dark mount reminding him of the young Emperor Alexander riding his faithful Bucephalus.  
A strange growling mixed with a yawn distracted the brunette, making him look down to the strangely speckled cheetah, who was watching the spectacle too. Kiya was peacefully sitting beside Marco, so close that her fluffy wiggling tail was rhythmically brushing his calf, tickling him. Her elegant head was held high, her tawny eyes relentlessly following her master.

Contrary to what Marco first feared, Jean's cheetah was, unlike her master, extremely calm and well-behaved. Proof was how the prince brought her with him when he decided to ride his new horse; Kiya hadn't bared her fangs or showed any sign of aggressiveness towards the tall herbivore. A wise decision in Marco's opinion, for he was sure the proud stallion's huge hooves could easily floor the feline predator.

Over the last few weeks, Marco had taken his marks as Jean's personal slave, and it included getting more comfortable near his speckled pet. Kiya wasn't as brash as her owner, but she still had a bit of a temper. Marco was glad she accepted him near her or Jean. At first she had growled a bit, but now she seemed to have realized that the freckled slave was no threat to neither her or her master.

Still, Marco didn't dare touch her in any way, waiting for the regal cheetah to make the first move. When Kiya stood up, the brunette looked away from her, only to notice Jean was now slowing down to a stop, patting the stallion's neck vigorously. He dismounted just in front of Marco, letting out a satisfied breath as he landed. 

The stallion was still shivering with the thrill of the recent exercise, its nostrils dilated, and its head bobbing about. The movements made Marco step back, a little intimidated by the giant dark animal. He wasn't used to dealing with horses; they were beautiful, but also very imposing creatures, so he'd rather watch them from afar. He admired Jean for being able to handle this particularly fierce one with such ease.  
The prince was currently petting the stallion's nose, shushing its nervy snores.

“You're such a good boy” He cooed, and the stallion let out one last heavy snore. “We're gonna get you home so you can eat plenty of hay” The horse answered by playfully bumping its nose into Jean's chest, the force of it almost knocking the air out of his lungs. The prince let out a breathy laugh “Yeah, don't thank me you big baby, you deserve it!”

Marco tried to contain the grin that was now almost reaching his ears, splitting his face in two. It was amusing (and maybe also cute), to see Jean talk to this impressive animal in such way. 

He had to admit there was actually more to Jean than he first thought. Well, most of the time, he was still his short tempered, arrogant self; but it seemed like that amount of time was decreasing more and more. Marco noticed that when Jean was alone with him, with no sign of his father or Priest Nick around, he was more composed, less restless. They sometimes talked about exciting topics like Egyptian mythology, astronomy and botanic and it was at these times that Marco felt the more at ease with the prince, who gladly heard the brunette's opinions on the different subjects.

With his substantial knowledge of the world, he felt on equal footing with Jean, and their conversations could last for hours, especially at night, with Marco settled into the comfortable couch that was now his bed, and Jean curled up under the covers of his own far too big bed.

The prince was intelligent and creative, and he paid a lot more attention to his lessons than it seemed. He was a hard-worker and Marco noticed, probably a bit too perfectionist at times. But his creativity and his ideas were often restricted by his environment, polluted by things he couldn't quite handle. Whether it was the high priest belittling him in front of his father, or the courtiers asking him to be what he obviously wasn't, Jean's freedom was actually more relative than Marco first thought. 

After splashing the sweating stallion with a few buckets of water and feeding it himself, Jean headed back to the insides of the palace, with Kiya on his heels, and Marco following a few meters behind. 

There was no need for Jean to gesture or ask for the brunette to come, Marco was a quick learner, and he rapidly got what he was meant to do. So he took the habit of following Jean everywhere, in silence, until he was told to do otherwise (which was a rare occurrence). At first, he felt ashamed, reduced to act like some kind of dog, but he soon saw the advantages of his new job. He could listen to every important conversation and learn every little secrets and rumors going around the palace.  
It wasn't that Marco was found of gossips, but he had to admit they were entertaining. 

Also, sometimes Jean discretely made him eat food he didn't like, to avoid upsetting the people who bought it for him, and to be honest, it was always a delight. Maybe Jean's taste buds were too used to good food, making him lose interest for it, or maybe it was about his strange relationship with said food. In any case, Marco always enjoyed these little treats, though at first he found it a bit degrading to have to eat the food the prince denied. But good food was good food, and it was a shame to waste it just because of some kind of misplaced pride. It wasn't like Jean was asking him to eat it off the floor anyway...

Still, everytime he chewed on another delicious present destined to the prince, he couldn't help but wonder what would happen if it was poisoned. It really wasn't impossible; Jean was praised by all, but it was obvious that some inhabitants of the palace didn't enjoy his company as much as they said. His moodiness was clearly irritating more than one noble.  
Maybe that was the reason the prince made him eat them in the first place. He would have to ask him about it one day.

But this wasn't the day. Even though Jean was currently in a good mood, thanks to his riding session, Marco knew it wouldn't last long, since they were now heading to the dinner room, where Pharaoh was probably waiting for his son.  
Every meal was the same really; mostly silent and cold. Pharaoh always asked a few upsetting questions to his slowly withdrawing son, and Jean refused to eat more than a few bites of whatever was on the table. Take the same pattern and repeat thrice a day. It was the most exhausting part of the day for Marco,; seeing Jean all nervous, feeling the tense atmosphere, eying food he couldn't eat. Yes, it was the worst.

Pharaoh, although intimidating, was a good sovereign. He was kind to his people and quite fair to the slaves. But he was incredibly demanding of his own son. Marco could tell the communication was hard between those two. If only they could try to be a bit nicer to each other...

As they turned around the corner of the corridor leading to their destination, Marco saw Jean's shoulders visibly tense. His smile had probably disappeared when he pushed the familiar massive doors. Marco took a deep breath.

Yes, take the same pattern and repeat.

\-----------

Instead of waiting in the boringly empty corridors while Jean took his early afternoon lessons, Marco had asked to have a bit of free time. The prince had easily accepted, much to Marco's surprise, and he even gave him some more free time just after the royal dinner, so that his slave could eat too.  
Surprised by Jean's sudden magnanimity, Marco had just weakly thank him, when deep inside, he was really grateful.

It is thanks to this barely negotiated free time that the brunette was now savoring a well seasoned fish, perfectly cooked by Bertholdt's care. The lanky green-eyed slave smiled as his friend took another bite of the crispy fish skin, letting out a content sigh.

“Your cooking is really amazing” Marco praised after swallowing his mouthful. 

The compliment made Bertholdt blush furiously. He still wasn't used to positive criticism and he had difficulty believing he was good at cooking; or good at anything really. Bertholdt wasn't what you could call a confident person.

“Y- your cooking was really good too you know” He answered, stuttering a bit “It's kind of lonely being in the kitchens without you” He then confessed, lowering his gaze.

“Yeah, I miss working in the kitchens too...” Marco agreed, starring into space.

It was true that he missed peeling the fruits and vegetables, laughing when Bertholdt would accidentally spray some citrus juice onto his face before he helped him clean up. He also missed learning about the different aromatic herbs that could be used to sublimate an otherwise plain dish. 

But contrary to what he first believed, being Jean's personal slave wasn't such a bad experience. Sure he had to follow him everywhere, standing still and silent most of the time, but he also discovered all the gorgeous hidden rooms of the palace and its beautiful gardens. The palace was huge, and now that he thought about it, it would have been a shame to stay confined between the kitchens and the slave quarters for all his life.  
He also had the opportunity to discuss with the prince about very educated themes, and when he was absorbed into a subject he liked and mastered, Jean was of quite good company.

“Is everything going well with Jean?” Bertholdt asked, concerned by Marco's sudden silence. “He isn't tyrannizing you, is he?”

Marco couldn't say it was “going well”, because it was mostly just “going”. It wasn't his choice to serve the prince, but he could say that it was going better than expected.  
Jean had stopped making uncalled for offers, and the prince's routine allowed Marco to not get up at dawn, furthermore, in a particularly comfortable bed. Still, said routine was a bit boring, and the brunette often missed his home and family.  
He missed guiding the flock to the verdant plains and lying under the summer sun while the sheep grazed. He missed his mother's not so refined and yet addictive cooking and the sugary scent of his sister's soft baby skin.

“It's going okay I guess.” He finally chose to answer, not wanting to bother Bertholdt with his conflicted thoughts. 

When his friend stayed silent, he still decided to elaborate a bit “Jean isn't such a bad person.”

Bertholdt smiled.

“He doesn't have it that easy, has he?” 

Marco looked up questioningly.

“Me and Reiner, we've been here for a long time now, so we kind of know about the royal family's history. I think life wasn't always that bright for Jean.” Bertholdt explained “Of course it doesn't excuse his bad behaviours, but I'm sure he's just struggling with his own demons, like all of us.”

Bertholdt's words were very wise and tolerant for such a young man, and Marco knew he too must have had much darker, much rougher days in his past.

“Jean's mother, the queen, she died, didn't she?” Marco asked gravely, curiosity mixed with sadness.

“Yes, the Great Royal Wife was taken away three years ago by a mysterious fever. The priests tried everything, but they were powerless. I remember Priest Nick and Pharaoh staying at her bedside all day and all night.” Bertholdt sighed “I think neither Pharaoh nor the prince ever got over it. She was a good wife, and a good mother. I'm sure her soul found a way on to Aaru.”

Hearing about her now, Marco was sure she was a very kind person and had indeed found her way to the heavenly paradise, a better place, whether it was beside the gods of Egypts or another entity.

“After her passing, Pharaoh became more distant with the prince, and Jean became more withdrawn. They don't get along as well as they did before, even though they both loved the queen very dearly.”

Marco knew far too well of the invisible, but impossibly deep scar the death of a loved one left in the hearts of those remaining in the world of the living. But what he didn't understand was why it drew Jean and his father apart, instead of strengthening their bond. In his own case, the passing of his father only served to draw his mother and him closer.  
The brunette voiced his opinion to Bertholdt, making the lanky slave smile bitterly.

“I think Pharaoh wants what is best for his son. He wants to protect him, but his worry is mistaken for coldness and severity.” The kind giant hesitated before he continued “Besides, Pharaoh is not very pleased with Jean's … preferences.”

The dark flush creeping up Bertholdt's cheeks left Marco little doubt about what he was referring to. 

“Jean doesn't really like girls, does he?” The brunette still asked for confirmation, feeling the heat rising to his own cheeks.

Bertholdt shook his head slowly, trying to find the right words.

“I think he still likes girls. He fancied Mikasa a lot. I guess he just prefers boys. At least, as far as I know, he was always heard in company of boys. But that's not really the problem, the problem is that those boys were always slaves and-” 

“And what?” Marco questioned, quickly regretting it when his friend buried his face into his huge sweaty palms.

“It's embarrassing to explain, but, when he's at it, Jean is kind o-,” Bertholdt squeaked, before clearing his throat, resuming his sentence “-kind of loud, so anyone passing by his room can hear what's going on inside and...” He took a deep breath before continuing his hurried whispering “most of the palace knows that he likes, you know... bottoming.”

The absolutely clueless look Marco threw him made Bertholdt groan in embarrassment.

“You don't know how intercourse goes between two men, do you?”

Marco shook his head and Bertholdt let out a defeated sigh, praying the gods under his breath.

“I really hate saying it like this, but I guess I have no choice: Jean likes when his partner puts his... penis inside his anus.” After a dramatic pause, he continued “And it's a bit embarrassing for a prince to let himself be dominated so, and might I add so often, by mere slaves.” Bertholdt blurts out.

Marco was a bit shocked at that revelation, it seemed to him like a strange practice.

“Does it repel you?” Bertholdt asked, worried by his friend's silence.

“Honestly, I don't know, I just can't imagine how it can feel good...” Marco answered truthfully.

The brunette wasn't completely clueless about sex. He knew how it worked between a man and a woman, and he also sometimes pleasured himself back home, taking advantage of his parent's absence to explore his growing body. Young men had their needs after all. And he had to say the last time he touched himself seemed very far away. The palace's constant promiscuity wasn't a very favourable atmosphere for this kind of activities.

“Trust me, it does.” Bertholdt answered seriously, confirming Marco that his and Reiner's relationship was probably more than just an innocent friendship.

After this compromising and also awkward discussion, the freckled brunette decided to change the subject, before Bertholdt's face turned so hot it would catch on fire.

\-----------

The discussion between the two friends had considerably diverted from its previous sexual topic, but what Marco just learned about intercourse between two men kept nudging at the corner of his mind.

And when a guard interrupted them, saying the prince requested Marco's presence immediately, the brunette was assaulted by the not so old memories of his first days in Egypt. The Jean he served now often seemed very different from the menacing prince he first met. But still, the boy was very complex, and with his new knowledge of his preferences, Marco discovered a new side of him, and he was afraid it would make his look on Jean different. 

Not that he was disgusted in any way, he just felt like something in his way of perceiving things about him would change, just like it did every time he discovered new habits or tastes of the prince (like the way he often bit his lower lip when he was confused or concentrated, or how he played with his rings when he didn't know what to do with his hands). And boy, was it changing a lot lately. Marco acquired so much information about him in the past days that his opinion on the prince wouldn't stop fluctuating; so much it was making his head spin with so a multitude of contradictory thoughts.

Just like the strange but intoxicating perfume of the room he just entered.

Marco had mindlessly followed the guard into a large marble room filled with mixing scents of flowers he had difficulty identifying. He spotted the delicate fragrance of orange flower, vanilla and the more characteristic smell of the garden's blue lotus flowers. While he relieved into this relaxing and enchanting atmosphere, the guard promptly left him near the door. The brunette's eyes tried to spot the prince, quickly finding his ashen blond hair at ground level.

Marco was actually in the biggest bathroom he had ever seen, and Jean was currently relaxing into a large pond dug into the floor, used by way of bathtub, that would probably be able to welcome a dozen princes. His back was against one of its sides, slender arms comfortably resting over the edges. Tawny eyes quickly met chocolate brown ones and Jean smirked.

The prince dismissed the two slaves placed around the bath, and they quietly exited the room, while holding the immense and heavy looking jars they probably used to keep Jean's bath at a suitable temperature.  
With a curl of his index finger, the young prince motioned his slave closer. Marco hesitantly walked towards the edges of the bath, not really knowing what to do with himself. Getting a better view of its content, he realized Jean wasn't bathing in water, but into a thicker, white liquid that was probably milk. However, he couldn't tell which animal it came from. There were also pretty orange blossoms and blue lotuses littering the milk's surface, their presence explaining the sweet scent filling the bathroom's air.  
This practice seemed strange and unheard of to the young slave, but he was still thankful for it, since it made a very good job at hiding Jean's naked body from his eyes, saving him from a certain embarrassment.  
The prince was plunged into the milk up to his clavicles, the creamy liquid leaving a thin white line where it stopped on his pale skin. For an Egyptian, Jean was rather pale. Not as pale as Mikasa, who was obviously a foreigner, but a lot paler than his father, Pharaoh. The brunette wondered if he took it after his mother.

Marco's eyes kept tracing the line of Jean's clavicles, traveling to the hollow of his throat and then up to Adam apple. He always saw the prince shirtless, but knowing that he was now completely naked and hidden under the velvety consistency of simple milk, made blood rush to Marco's cheeks. And to some other places too. He wished he hadn't talk about sexuality with Bertholdt, for it made him remember, with really bad timing, that he was actually quite pent up. He shook his head, trying not to think about Jean's rising and falling chest, or his lips calling his name.

“Marco”

No, he shouldn't think back to the events of weeks ago. He had to keep his focus. Jean was attractive, of course, he was a prince; royalty made you pretty. But he wasn't supposed to react like this to seeing another man bathing.

“Marco!”

The young brunette realized he hadn't dreamed Jean's voice calling his name. His gaze focused back to Jean's deep eyes, finding them blazing dangerously.

“If you keep looking at me like you're gonna eat me, I might not be able to hold myself back from pulling you into the bath with me.” The prince purred, his voice low and his smirk dirty.

Marco felt his whole body flush, the sudden heat rushing through him threatening to fry his brains. He stepped back but couldn't avert his eyes from Jean's predatory gaze, its intensity trapping him.  
Panic and memories attacked the young slave in a dizzying wave, his muscles tensing in anticipation. 

But suddenly, all the tension vanished as Jean's light laugh filled the hot bathroom's air. Marco stared at the prince questioningly, but the only answer he got was another deep chuckle.  
Jean then ran a hand through his hair, before finally deigning to speak again. 

“It's okay, I'm not gonna molest you. But you should have seen your face, you were really looking at me like a piece of meat, it was almost scary!”

The prince sighed and closed his eyes, even more relaxed by his little laughing fit, he leaned back a bit more against the bath's walls.

“By the way, I called you here because I got bored. Entertain me.” Came the selfish reason why he requested Marco's presence.

The brunette, still shaken by their short exchange didn't have a clue what to do to remedy his prince's boredom. So he just let his natural curiosity take the lead.

“What kind of milk is that?” He asked while crouching closer to the liquid.

After a second of hesitation and a brief look to Jean, Marco slowly dipped a few fingers into the bath. “It's very warm” he absentmindedly commented.

“It's ass milk. It's good for the skin. You should try it someday, feels very nice.” Jean answered with another pleased sigh, his eyes fixed on Marco's hands.

The young slave nodded in understanding, his fingers drawing incoherent patterns into the milk, making the liquid's surface undulate, forming small wrinkles. He thought Jean was actually pretty coquettish for a boy. He cared about his skin and about his hair, applying coconut oil every morning to keep it soft and style it, and he never got out without properly done make-up.  
Marco understood that as royalty, he had to always be presentable and stylish, but sometimes, he suspected Jean appreciated getting dolled up, not only for the sake of responsibility.  
Marco wondered, accidentally out loud, how many asses were needed to fill such a huge bath.

“There are 700 asses in the royal stables. And I'm not the only one using their milk, most women in the palace are in the habit of washing their face with it seven times daily; not one more, not one less.” Jean answered casually “It's supposed to efface wrinkles.”He then added, absentmindedly playing with one of the blue lotuses floating on the surface of the bath, caressing the delicate flower's soft petals.

Marco's jaw dropped at the number. The royal family really did things in astronomic proportions; it was almost ridiculous. 

The brunette kept distracting Jean with other questions about the animals Pharaoh possessed and the prince graciously answered. The young slave discovered the palace's stables were an incredible menagerie. They accommodated hundreds of horses of the purest breeds, more dromedaries and camels than possessed by the richest of merchants, an army of sheep, goats, pigs, cows and geese, kept alongside more exotic and wild creatures like monkeys, hyenas, cranes, gazelles and a single lion.

“And what about Kiya? How did you get her?” Marco asked, thinking back to the beautiful domesticated royal cheetah.

Jean's previously opened and smiling face suddenly dropped. Shifting into his bath, he withdrew onto himself inexplicably.  
He drew his wet knees up to his chest, resting his chin other them, painting it in white. Marco didn't know whether he should apologize or change the subject, so he stayed silent, trying to catch what Jean's lost eyes were staring at, unsuccessfully. 

“Kiya was a present, offered to my mother by the king of Persia.” Jean finally answered, his voice low and strangled. “She was just a kitten back then, mother took good care of her and she often let me play with her. When she-” He swallowed with difficulty before continuing “when she passed away, I took care of Kiya in her place, she's a very smart animal.”

Marco's heart sank with fondness and sadness as Jean started rubbing his eyes with the tips of his fingers, trying to hide the wetness glistening there. The prince must cherish his feline pet so much more than the young slave expected, for she was a faithful companion, but also a dear memory of his deceased mother.  
The brunette was about to reach out to gently pat the prince's shoulder, but he was stopped by the sudden and loud splashing noise of Jean's hand colliding into the bath's milk.

“Urgh, the orange blossom essence is starting to sting my eyes. I'm gonna get out before I become a blind old wrinkled prune!” Jean exclaimed in a proud attempt to hide the tears prickling the corner of his eyes. 

Marco smiled at the prince's sensitive side, but it was quickly replaced by a surprised gasp as Jean got up, exposing his completely naked body, abundantly dripping with milk, the little white drops drawing arabesques as they trickled down his lean muscles. The brunette blushed bright red, his breath taken away by the sight before him. He tried his best not to look too much, especially not too low and he probably failed.  
The prince, in all his immodesty, smirked and ran a hand through his hair, not attempting to cover himself in any way.

“Marco, don't play the innocent virgin and go get me a towel before I freeze to death.” Jean barked with a shiver to his frozen slave, his previous wave of emotions seemingly gone.

The brunette quickly obeyed, busying himself with the task at hand to avoid asking himself why he was so disrupted by the prince's naked body.

\-----------

After Jean had dried himself and coated his body with pleasantly scenting frankincense and myrrh essential oils (coquettish indeed), Marco followed him back to his chambers.

Kiya welcomed the prince by rubbing her thin body along his legs, just like a giant cat would, owning a few pats on her head from her master before she finally went back to on her cushion, satisfied. 

Jean, relaxed by his long bath, jumped inelegantly on his bed and difficultly made his way under the thin sheets, letting out a content sigh when he was comfortably settled. Marco watched him with a reserved smile, still a bit lost in thought and dizzy from the words and perfumes that had filled his evening.

The prince cleared his throat to obtain his slave's attention.

“So, which one of your stories are you going to tell me tonight?” He inquired with a little smile.

Marco, so lost in his routine and his attempts at analyzing Jean's personality, had totally forgotten to prepare a story for tonight's bedtime routine. Indeed, at first the stories came to him without trouble, but the more the days passed, the less stories he had in stock. He always tried to find ones that would suit Jean's taste, and in the last days he sometimes had to search for some in the vast palace's library. However this day, his imagination and memory were leaving him, taking an unexpected vacation at the same time, with awful timing.  
The brunette heavily sat on the couch that he used as a bed, letting out an uninspired huff.

He racked his brains for something to tell, anything, but nothing came. His mind was blank. And the fear of what Jean would do; in which state of anger he could possibly get if he didn't find anything to help him sleep wasn't allowing him the possibility to think straight.

“What about _your_ story?” Jean suddenly asked, voice unsure. His eyes were soft as they left his hands to meet Marco's helpless gaze.

Did he ask out of curiosity, or did he spot the distress in his slave's eyes; Marco didn't know. But his growing stress started receding as he nodded his head in agreement. 

He started from the beginning, telling Jean about his family; his mother, his cute sister, even his lost father, and the words flowed surprisingly well from his lips. He didn't think he would be able to tell his own story to anyone so easily, especially not to Jean. And yet he did.  
He told him everything; how he was captured by slave merchants, how he was robbed of his last possession, how he missed his family. He managed not to cry, holding his voice steady like he was narrating some other man's story; being a completely detached omniscient narrator instead of the main protagonist.  
Jean listened to him without interrupting, just like he always did. He looked as much invested in Marco's story as every other night, not missing a single word escaping his slave's lips. 

When the brunette ended his story, Jean stayed silent for a few minutes, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, as if he was trying to put together the pieces of a complex puzzle.

“So you're not a slave by choice?” He asked, seeming lost.

“Of course not!” Marco quickly answered, incredulous and revolted “How could I choose to give up on my freedom, on my home?!”

Jean was taken aback by this sudden outburst. He obviously had trouble understanding.

“I thought slaves chose to work at the palace because it was an easier life.” He explained “But since you're not Egyptian, I guess your situation is different.” he then added, rubbing his chin with his fingers.

It was Marco's turn to not understand. How could one give up on his freedom, on his family, on his home to work like a dog under people who treated them like less than nothing? That's what he asked the prince, but Jean couldn't fathom how badly the slaves were treated because, to him, it was normal, it was just how things were.  
They both came from opposite worlds, and their difference in education and situation was building a wall between them when it came to this sort of topics.  
Jean was convinced that being a slave in the palace was living the good life, as far as slaves were concerned, convinced their were always well treated. The flash of Reiner's abused back filled Marco's vision, but he saw this conversation about slavery was leading nowhere, and was moreover starting to irritate the short-tempered prince who didn't seem keen on questioning his country's customs.  
So Marco stopped arguing about how his life wasn't the one he dreamed of, contrary to Jean's belief.

“Forget it, I'm tired, I'm going to sleep.” He snapped at the prince, unable to entirely control his boiling anger, and rolling on his side onto his couch, facing the wall so Jean couldn't see his face.

The prince's frown deepened and he sat up on his bed, clearly upset with Marco's attitude.

“You're not allowed to sleep until I tell you to, whether you like it or not, you're still my slave! You have to respect me and do as I say!”

Marco hadn't missed Jean's little temper tantrums. The prince's hadn't snapped at him like this for weeks, and the hope he wouldn't do it again had crossed his mind not so long ago. But everytime something upset him, everytime things weren't going his way, Jean just felt like he _had_ to fuel his sense of superiority by giving him orders and belittling him.  
The brunette was tired and upset too, and right now, he wouldn't accept to be treated this way.

“I may be your slave, but I'm still a human being, if I want to sleep, I'll do so, and none of your childish caprices will stop me. Good night.” He answered, trying to keep his voice as leveled as possible.

The young slave had learned a while ago that shouting wasn't the best way of dealing with Jean, it would only earn him more shouting. The best way to deal with his sudden outbursts was to just ignore him. He was helpless against that. His bark sure was scary but Marco learned Jean's bite was nothing to fear.

Jean stayed silent, his fists previously clenched in rages slowly relaxing. His eyes searched Marco's strong freckled back as he let out a defeated groan. He hated how powerless he was against his slave; how he couldn't tame his free spirit with severe authority.  
It was true that he often threatened Marco, but he felt like his slave knew he wouldn't enforce those threats. Of course he wouldn't, it was this sometimes rebel but still wise attitude that made Jean appreciate the brunette's company.

He wasn't like any other slave he ever had, not obeying mindlessly to his every command, not feeding him only with the words he wanted to hear. Not treating him like he was superior.

Yes, that was it; Marco was honest with him. He treated him like he would any another human being, and it was frustrating and at the same time extremely satisfying. He didn't want to lose that. He hated to admit it but it would feel lonely without Marco by his side. He wanted to keep him to himself, keep his intelligent words and radiant smiles. And also he had to admit, his particularly handsome silhouette. He wanted him to stay his.

“I'm sorry.” The prince slowly broke the heavy silence. 

He was reluctant to do so, giving excuses was really not in his habits. But things started to change lately, maybe for the best.

He knew he was wrong for raising his voice. There were parts of him he still couldn't control, couldn't hold back when his emotions invaded him. Marco had opened his heart to him, sharing his personal story, baring his feelings, and Jean had greeted him with boldness and inconsideration. And all because he understood Marco didn't wish to be his slave; he wanted to go back home, even if he didn't voice this desire. And that, Jean couldn't accept.

Marco equally knew that apologies were a rare occurrence in Jean's part, so after a long silence, he accepted them, saying he was sorry too.  
Jean didn't insist anymore and blew the candles on his bedside table. The room fell into darkness and both boys had trouble finding sleep, the heavy silence of the clear night far too loud for their minds to wander into dreamland, staying stuck on memories of home for one and fear of being abandoned again for the other.

\-----------

Marco's sleep was disturbed. He was tossing and turning inside the small couch, where he usually slept so well.  
He could hear Jean's loud breathing. It was so heavy that it felt close, too close, uncomfortable. He could almost feel it on his neck, but it wasn't pleasant, because Jean was stressed.

Why was Jean stressed? He usually moved a lot during his sleep, but he never breathed like he was right now; like he was in pain or helplessly lost into a terrible nightmare.

And he definitely never _whimpered_ in fear like he just did.

Marco rose suddenly, groggily looking around him to find out if Jean was okay. But his state of semi-awareness was short lived, as he finally spotted the prince, prostrated at the end of his bed, his thighs shaking and his golden eyes filled with cold fear. He was sweating profusely, the cause of his sudden panic attack slowly crawling towards his curled feet. 

It wasn't a nightmare that had woken up Jean in his sleep, but a thin jet black snake of around 2 meters, the pale light of the moon making its scales and its deep obsidian eyes shine with dreadful beauty. 

Marco froze as Jean looked at him, his lost eyes pale with angst and pleading for help. But the young slave didn't know what he ought to do. However he knew he had to think fast. 

Even in the dim light, he could tell that the snake menacingly moving forwards Jean wasn't one he already saw. There were lots of snake species back home, some venomous, and some others not. And there was Marco's current question. Was this snake poisonous or not? 

Should he try to catch it and throw it outside, risking being bitten but saving the prince? 

But what if he startled the reptile? What if he wasn't quick enough? What if it was mortal? What if it killed the Prince? 

Marco's mind was racing, but his blood was ice cold into his veins. His eyes wandered sickeningly fast between the snake and the prince, unable to decide what to do. 

The reptile crept closer to the prince's ankle, darting its split tongue out to feel at his pale skin. Jean muffled his panicked little whimpers with a hand on his mouth.  
He was trembling, trying not to move too much. His back was against the wall behind him, and he was unable to escape further, trapped like a rat under the cold-blooded predator's empty eyes. Jean closed his eyes, and gulped, while Marco watched powerless as the prince's Adam-apple bobbed with difficulty, and tears started filling the corner of his eyes. 

_What should he do? What should he do? What should he do?_

The snake raised itself menacingly, inexplicably offended. It's mouth opened, jaw going completely slack, showing off its menacing and probably deadly fangs. 

Marco let out a strangled whimper, digging his nails deep into the palms of his hands. But he still didn't dare moving. 

_What should he do? What should he do? What should he do?_

The snake hissed, showing its mouth inky-black interior. Black like the fur of the wolves haunting his nights; black like death itself. 

It was too late. 

Marco knew he was too late. 

Jean was going to get bitten. 

Jean was going to get killed.

He was going to die in front of him and he would have tried nothing to prevent it. 

Marco screamed in horror and the snake launched at Jean. 

But before Marco could see the reptile plunge its poison-leaking fangs into the prince's ankle, the spring of a huge black mass blocked his vision. 

Kiya growled as she shook her head in furry, before finally spitting out the head of the dead snake. Hidden away in the shadows, the cheetah had appeared suddenly, saving her master from the deadly black reptile; beheading it mercilessly in less than a heartbeat.  
Quicker than the snake, she had lived up to her mother Mafdet's reputation, the cheetah goddess titled the _“slayer of serpents”_. 

Marco tried to get up, but his legs were wobbly, and he had to sit back down a second before succeeding. He then slowly approached the bed, careful not to offend Kiya in any way. 

The cheetah was still visibly on edge, her long back hairs spiked, and her limbs slightly bent, ready to leap again if needed.  
Behind her, Marco caught sight of Jean's face. At first, his closed eyes and livid face made him think he had fainted. But the prince was still conscious, letting out a long shaky exhale and slowly opening his eyes.  
The tears had dried on his cheeks and he looked totally exhausted. 

Kiya let out a low purr before she lay down in her master's laps, her elegant head coming to rest on his sweaty chest, her black circled eyes checking on him with as much worry as such animal could express.  
Jean's shaking hand came to stroke her speckled fur in an attempt to ground himself; to calm his heavy breathing and racing, but still beating, heart. 

Seeing his prince's difficulty to swallow his fear, Marco fetched a glass of water and carefully handed it to him.  
Jean gratefully tilted his head before greedily drinking the glass's content. 

“My prince, are you okay?” 

Marco didn't bother hiding the worry and shakiness of his voice and hands. He had been truly scared back there, and if Kiya hadn't been there... He didn't want to think about the consequences.  
He may sometimes not agree with some of Jean's opinions, but the last think he wanted was for him to pass away so young. 

The prince nodded slightly, silently reassuring his freckled slave. His was hand still idly stroking his pet's fur, the motion seeming to appease him a little. 

Marco decided to fuss over cleaning the snake's remains, carefully putting its separated head and body into a clay jar. He didn't want to throw it away just yet, eager to find out later what specie it was, and how dangerous it made it.  
After this task was done, the brunette didn't know what more to do to help the still slightly shaking Jean. 

“Maybe I- I should go get a guard” Marco informed before heading to the door. 

Jean's trembling hand caught him before he could leave. 

“Please, don't leave me.” 

There was so much pain and sorrow in the prince's voice that Marco couldn't refuse. Jean must have been so scared... 

They would have to deal with informing the guards and Pharaoh of the event the following day. Measures would have to be taken to ensure the prince's security. Another incident of this sort couldn't repeat itself. 

Kiya looked one last time to her master, rubbing her moist nose against the underside of his chin reassuringly, before jumping down the bed, returning to her cushion. It was probably Marco's imagination, but it was like she was giving him her place. The brunette almost felt flattered.  
However he didn't dare sitting on Jean's bed until the prince asked him to. 

“Could yo-” Jean started, but his throat tightened, preventing him from continuing. He took a deep breath before trying again. “Could you hold my hand until I fall asleep?” 

Jean looked so helpless, his tired eyes searching Marco's brown ones for an answer. The young slaves smiled softly while sitting on the edge of the bed, gently taking Jean's hand in his.  
The prince's hand was cold inside his own warm palm. Jean shivered and squeezed this slave's fingers tightly. But Marco felt as if his presence wasn't as effective in calming Jean down as his cheetah's was. 

“Wouldn't you prefer it if Kiya slept with you?” He asked, unsure. 

Jean shook his head slowly. 

“She isn't allowed to sleep with me. The priests said her hairs are causing me allergies.” 

Marco sighed. The pressure of his mentors was still affecting Jean, even in this situation. He couldn't imagine the young motherless Jean denied sleeping with his only friend, for probably unfounded reasons, without his heart sinking a little. 

“I think one night won't hurt, especially given the circumstances.” The brunette soothed. 

But Jean stubbornly shook his head again, reminding Marco of an obedient but awfully scared child. He sighed. 

“Alright then. I'll stay here with you, so try to get some rest.” He whispered. 

And as Jean nodded and closed his eyes, Marco started stroking the prince's soft hair, the soothing motion making the blond relax under his warm touch.  
Jean soon stopped trembling and his grip on Marco's hand relaxed progressively. And while Jean started snoring softly, the brunette couldn't help but wonder how the strange black snake ended up inside the prince's bed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ancient Egypt fact of the day : The milk of 700 asses was needed to fill Cleopatra's bath.
> 
> Second fact: the egyptians weren't against homosexuality. They were very open about sex in general (the prostitutes walked naked into the palace's corridors and it didn't bother anyone XD), so I guess Jean's sexuality wouldn't shock anyone. Still, I wanted to give him and his father a reason for tension and conflict, so it's not that Pharaoh is homophobe or anything, but he finds his son a bit too "involved", too often into sexual activities with slaves. 
> 
> I hope it made sense. Sorry for rambling again.


	7. Help from Anubis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to all of you who commented (especially those who comment regularly, yeah, I see you and I love you), left kudos or bookmarks.   
> I'm trying very hard to make this story good, and you feed back helps me a lot!
> 
> Enjoy this new chapter!

The sun rays falling on Marco's face made him blink, slowly chasing away the sleep from his brown eyes. When he moved to escape the blinding light, his back muscles sent him a painful complain, in the form of a dull aching throb.  
Looking around him, he realized he was still sitting on Jean's bed, and had fallen asleep against the headboard, in an awkwardly twisted position. No wonder his back hurt so much.

Marco tried to get up, but he was stopped by a displeased grunt and a strong pull at his hand.  
Jean emerged from his blanket cocoon, his sandy hair ruffled and his tawny eyes pale, still reddened from the tears he shed the previous night. His hand was still clutching Marco's, his grip almost cutting out the brunette's blood-flow. 

“Please, don't go.” Jean whispered. His voice was a bit hoarse from sleep, but it didn't help in hiding his distress.

The prince was afraid to be left alone and Marco knew it wasn't only the result of the previous night's incident. The freckled brunette's free hand gently fell onto the top of Jean's head, like it had a mind of its own, feeling it was needed there.   
Jean's grip on Marco's hand relaxed under the soft hair stroking he was receiving, his shoulders also visibly slackening.

“My prince” Marco slowly started, not wanting to stress Jean “I still need to inform the guards about last night, to make sure it won't happen again.” The brunette continued his soothing gesture “But I promise I'll come back right afterward, I'll be quick.”

The prince's eyes searched his slave's brown ones before he finally let go of his hand, giving a small nod with his head.  
Marco smiled as he got up, and when he reached the door, he saw Kiya getting up from her sleeping spot at the foot of the bed, coming to gently nuzzle Jean's now empty hand.   
The young slave exited the room, with the comforting knowledge that the prince was left into good hands.

–---------

Marco jogged into the vast corridors, the sound of his bare-foot steps echoing against the marble, breaking the silence of the calm morning. After a few minutes of searching, he finally stopped in front of a bald guard, who was looking at him rather suspiciously.  
The brunette took a deep breath before explaining to the man before him how the prince was almost killed by a venomous snake during the night. The more Marco went on with his story, the more the guard's eyes widened.  
Said guard fidgeted, sweating badly as he answered that he was going to report the information to Pharaoh.

Afterward, Marco made a quick detour by the kitchens. He picked up a few dates, as well as other fruits, not having time for being too picky, for he didn't want to make Jean wait too long. He hoped a few sweet treats would help raise the prince's mood. The boost food could give him would probably be welcomed after what he had gone through.   
While he completed this task, Marco bumped into Bertholdt, but only greeted him with a smiling “Hi” before excusing himself and jogging back to the prince's room.

–---------

When Marco got back, Jean was sitting on his bed with his legs crossed, his hand calmly stroking Kiya's head.  
The prince's head shot up when his freckled slave entered. He seemed relieved and stopped stroking his cheetah's fur.

“I brought you food, my prince” Marco's smile was gentle as he approached the bed with cautious steps, like he would when dealing with a frightened animal. “I thought you might be hungry.”

Jean shifted a bit on his bed, making space for his slave to sit next to him. Once Marco was settled down, he offered his tray of fruits to the prince. But Jean shook his head in refusal.

“I'm not hungry” He grumbled.

Marco's eyes fell on Jean's visible ribs, then traveled to his unhealthily flat stomach. He frowned and finally decided to say something about Jean's eating habits.

“I insist you should eat something” He started, a bit authoritarian. “You're gonna end up sick if you keep on eating so little.”

Jean looked down like a child who just received a scolding from his parents. He bit his lips but didn't reply.  
Marco eyed the food, then Jean then the food again. He was determined to find a way to make the prince eat at least a little bit.

“If the food I brought doesn't appeal to you, I can go fetch something else.” He offered kindly. “Just tell me what you'd like.”

Jean was still chewing on his bottom lip when he looked up to Marco, unsure, trying to open his mouth to speak before closing it quickly.  
Marco stayed silent, waiting for Jean to express himself without pressuring him.

“The food's not the problem.” The prince finally sighed.

The pause was long before he continued, but Marco stayed patient.

“I-” Jean racked a trembling hand through his hair “Since Mother's death, I can't really eat in front of people.” He let out bitter laugh. “And since I'm always surrounded by people, you know...”

Marco continued listening with sympathetic eyes. He wanted to caress Jean again, to touch him just to reassure him. He looked so fragile in front of him, opening his heart, talking about his insecurities. But Marco decided against it. 

“The meals are almost the only times I see my father, and he has always something to reproach me; always remarks to make about how I do things.” Jean sighed again. “I know he probably means well, but it's stressing me so much, and I started dreading this moments, so now when I'm sitting in the dinning room, always on the same stupid chair, with all that food in front of me, I just can't. My stomach tightens, and it hurts and I want to throw up, even when I'm starving!”

Jean's hair was spiked from continuous pulling of his fingers, even more messy than when he woke up. The words he must have kept to himself flew freely from his mouth now, and it was hard, but it was doing him good to get them out.

“And it's the same with those stupid courtiers, always judging me! Every time I try to reason myself, I just can't, I feel sick.”

The prince buried his face into his hands, and Marco felt so his heart sank. The loss of his mother must have hurt Jean, and still hurt him so much. It aslo threw away his relationship with his father. Jean must have so much more pressure on his shoulders than Marco first thought. His life wasn't really as idle and glamorous as everyone would think.

Marco finally took it in himself to gently put his hand on Jean's trembling shoulder. He felt bad for making Jean talk about this problem of his at a time like this, when he was already tired and stressed. But at least now he could do something to help him.  
The brunette slowly stroked the prince's arm, and Jean accepted to look at him.

“I don't know if it's a good solution, but right now, what if I don't watch you eat, but instead eat with you?” Marco asked cautiously, hoping he would be able to reassure the prince. “I'm not here to judge you, but to share a nice moment with you.”

Jean seemed to ponder that idea, biting his lip again. Then, his stomach made a growling noise, making his cheeks color crimson.

“Would it be okay?” Marco smiled, a bit insistent, but not pushing.

After a few more seconds of reflection, Jean nodded in agreement.

“I'm actually pretty hungry” He whispered, still blushing, dutifully avoiding Marco's eyes.

Marco quickly brushed away the thought that Jean was pretty cute like this and graced him with his trademark smile before popping a date into his mouth. He chew on it slowly, savouring the sweet taste on his tongue.

“These are delicious!” He hummed around a mouthful, already taking another one between his fingers.

Jean watched Marco's strong jaw work, his eyes then falling on his bobbing Adam apple as he easily swallowed. Maybe it was the sight of his favourite food, or maybe something else, but the prince finally took a date and ate it with a content sigh.

Marco smiled but avoided looking too much at Jean as he continued eating, not wanting to embarrass him in any way, for it would throw away what he just achieved. It was probably just a small step for Jean, but he was clearly content with it at the moment, mercilessly emptying the tray of its fruits, with the appetite of a starved man. Oranges, apples, pomegranates that stained the white sheets with their crimson juice, (but who cared? It would be taken care of later), raisins; at the moment, the prince wasn't picky.

The last fruit on the tray was a date that Jean was eying rather obviously. Marco suspected he had saved it for last, since it was his favourite.  
However, the freckled brunette saw the prince hesitate. He was probably pondering whether or not to ask if Marco wanted the fruit before eating it. But Marco, in all his usual kindness put an end to his struggle. He took the date between his thumb and forefinger, making Jean's expression instantly turn to disappointment.

“You can have the last one.” Marco offered, holding out the fruit to the prince.

Jean gave a surprised and inelegant “Uh?” before a blush reached his cheeks. And to Marco's surprise, instead of taking the date in his own hand, Jean bent down to catch it with his mouth directly, his soft lips brushing against Marco's fingers in the motion. It was the slave's turn to blush, emitting a pathetic little squeak in the process.  
Jean pulled away, distancing his face from Marco's hand as he chewed the last sweet treat.

“Yeah, you're right” He started before swallowing his mouthful “really delicious” He added, his tawny eyes burning and holding Marco's gaze with an intensity the brunette hadn't seen in a long time.

But this time Marco wasn't afraid of those predatory eyes, for mixed with their fierceness, there was also a kind of warm softness.   
Without the approbation of his brain, Marco's body had moved closer to this mesmerizing gaze, his face stopping a few inches away from the prince, their noses almost touching. Marco could smell the sweet taste of dates on Jean's breath, and he was close enough to see the shinning remains of sugar on the prince's lips. Those lips were so soft against his fingers, and his traitorous brain started to wonder how they would feel on his lips. Probably extremely sweet.  
When Jean closed his eyes, Marco stopped thinking. He had been bewitched by those tawny wild orbs, but now that he was freed from their hold, he was surprised that he didn't find himself wanting to retreat. He surrendered to his instincts and closed his eyes as Jean started to come a little closer, almost shyly, millimeter by millimeter.

A strong knock was heard on the door and the spell was broken.

Marco quickly got up, startled, his back straight and his cheek flushed. Jean on his side opened his eyes slowly, blinking before he let himself fall back onto his bed with what sounded like a disappointed groan.

The door opened to reveal a worried Priest Nick. The newcomer hurried inside, quickly closing the distance between the door and the prince's bed to fall onto his knees in front of Jean. Marco stepped away from the bed, his eyes widening at the scene before him. Kiya came to stand beside him, letting out a guttural growl as the hair on her back spiked and her eyes locked onto the priest. She was ready to attack if needed.

“My prince, I heard what happened, are you alright?” Priest Nick asked in a hurry, his eyes checking the prince's body for any lesion. 

“Y-yeah, I'm fine” Jean answered, obviously surprised by this sudden behaviour.

“You father is so worried. He sent me here to investigate the case.” The priest continued, loud and hurried “We must make everything in our power for this kind of incident to never happen again!”

The priest got up as quickly as he got down, and Marco had to admit he was rather fit for a man his age.

“I know it is unfair of me to ask you about the shocking experience you had last night, but could you describe the reptile to me? It would be of great help for my investigation.” 

Jean immediately looked to Marco, making a sign with his head to tell him it was his turn to speak.  
The priest eyes fell on him, and he frowned sceptically. In his eyes, Marco could see he was still a good for nothing slave.

“Hum, actually I kept the remains of the snake in a jar, if it can help you.” The brunette said, eyes downcast and voice weak. The Priest's dark glance icing his blood, almost making him feel ashamed for being here, for existing.

Priest Nick took the jar without a word of praise or acknowledgment to the freckled slave. He then bid the prince farewell, advising him to rest and assuring him that he shouldn’t worry, for he had the matter in his own hands.  
As the door closed, Marco let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, and relaxed his back muscles a bit. Kiya relaxed too, getting back to her cushion after giving a somewhat nasty look to the door.

Jean sprawled onto his bed, flopping onto the sheets and stretched lazily.

“I don't want to get out of the room today.” He grumbled, rubbing his tired eyes. “I don't want everyone fussing around me, I just want to have peace.” He sighed.

Marco smiled at that. Jean was being kind of childish, but after the fear he had, he deserved a bit of rest.  
The prince threw his arm other his eyes.

“Marco, I want to sleep, can you stroke my hair like you did before, I liked it.” 

The brunette blushed at that blunt confession, but he decided the request was asked nicely enough to be accepted. He motioned to seat on the bed once again, his back against the headboard like earlier in the morning. His hand found its place back into Jean's messy hair, his fingers gently running through the soft curls, trying to put them back in order. Marco didn't mind touching the prince's hair, it was soft and nice, and the gesture was probably as soothing for him as it was for Jean.  
And under Marco's touch, Jean fell asleep quicker than he ever had.

–---------

A few days after the snake incident, Jean started getting better. It took him two days to accept getting out of his room, and Marco suspected that in the end he was just staying in by caprice, because he enjoyed being taken care of in bed, and not having to attend any of his classes, or any boring social event he was usually bound to.

Indeed, Marco may have spoiled him a little bit too much during his time recovering from his “traumatizing”, as Priest Nick would say, experience. The freckled slave may have been a bit too keen on pleasing the prince, accepting to bring him food or drinks at any hour of the day or night, as well as reading him books for hours and ending stroking his blond hair to help him sleep probably more than necessary.   
But Marco was still glad he did so, for Jean ate during those two days a lot more than he did in the previous month, and that made his slave happy. Besides, the brunette hadn't been the only one spoiling him, far from it.  
Most of the courtiers came to entrust different presents to the two guards that had been commissioned to guard Jean's bedroom, and that now stood before his door at all hours of the day. Amongst the soaps and ointments composing the presents, there were also different types of pastries and sweets. Jean refused to eat every single one of them. He still had a few problems to solve when it came to food. However Marco didn't complain about the prince's attitude this time, for he was the one who ate those delicious treats (after making absolutely sure Jean didn't want them of course). 

The third day, Jean finally accepted to go out, wanting to ride his black stallion and then take a stroll into the gardens with Marco. On the fourth day, energized by his resting days, he got back to his usual prince routine.

It was almost a week after the incident that Marco found himself in the library, absentmindedly turning the pages of an Egyptian mythology book, his mind elsewhere. He was still wondering where the snake that almost attacked Jean came from. He had searched all the books about animals in the library, but strangely enough, he didn't find anything on this particular breed. It was bugging him; how did it end up in Jean's bed?  
It couldn't have been by the window because Marco slept under it, so he would have been the first one to be awakened. At some point Marco suspected someone to have entered the room in the middle of the night, but he was a light sleeper so he would have heard it; or eventually Kiya would have reacted.  
The brunette didn't want to be paranoid, but the hypothesis of an attempt of murder couldn't be completely dismissed. After all, Jean was royalty, and heir to the throne of both Egypts.

In his intense thinking, Marco didn't hear the door of the library open, missing the creaking of its hinges trying to warn him that he wasn't alone anymore.  
The brunette, unaware of the presence slowly creeping behind him, jumped and yelped when a strong hand gripped his shoulder and another one came other his eyes, effectively blinding him.  
He felt a wave of panic fill his veins and bones. 

“Who is it?” A familiar voice sang in his ear.

Marco let out the breath he was holding.

“Eren!” He groaned, freeing himself from the smaller man “You scared me!”

Eren grinned at him before sticking his tongue out playfully.

“What do you want?” Marco asked, closing his book with too much force, betraying his slight degree of annoyance.

“Nothing special.” Was Eren's answer. “Just wanted to say 'Hi'”. He waved his hand in front of him, grinning madly “Hi!”

Marco sighed. Eren was really something.

“So how is Jean doing?” The dancer asked. “I heard about the snake thing, hope he didn't pee himself too bad.” 

Marco gasped, outraged by that remark.

“Eren don't joke about that, I was there and it was really terrifying!”

Eren put his hands in front of him in an appeasing surrendering motion.

“Ok, sorry freckles.” The apology left his mouth but with no honesty behind it. “But it must have been a great occasion for you to save princess Jean from a tragic end.” He added, sneering.

This time, instead of getting annoyed, Marco's face fell. He hadn't been the one saving Jean, and he knew that if Kiya hadn't been there...  
He shook his head; it was a thing from the past, and Jean was safe, it was the only thing that mattered.

Eren was mischievous but he wasn't dumb. He clearly saw Marco's sudden change of mood, and he adapted his attitude in consequence. 

“What's wrong Marco?” He asked, dropping the nickname and coming closer to the freckled brunette.

Marco bit his bottom lip.

“At that time, I couldn't help him.” He whispered with a sigh.”And still now, the priests won't let me help with the investigation they're leading, because I'm just a sla-” He stopped, not wanting to belittle himself like they did “I just feel useless”.

Eren motioned even closer. “I'm sure Jean doesn't think you're useless, or else he'd dismiss you, trust me!” He said, not so gently patting Marco on the shoulder. 

The brunette appreciated this clumsy attempt at comforting him, he really did.

“Maybe, but I'm frustrated you know, because I looked through every book in here to find what kind of snake it was that attacked Jean, and I can't find anything!” He complained, letting out his accumulated frustration.

Eren's eyes sharpened before he gave Marco a lopsided grin.

“I know just the person who can help you.”

–---------

Marco couldn't say he wasn't surprised when Eren led him through the massive marble pillars that formed the palace's entrance. When they exited Pharaoh's residence, no one stopped them; no guard, no courtier, no other slave.  
The brief thought that he could probably escape anytime without being noticed crossed Marco's mind, but he quickly dismissed it. He would never reach his home alive if he carelessly slipped away on a whim; he would die of thirst or exhaustion. And besides, he couldn't prevent a little voice in his head from telling him it would be unfair to leave Jean. Even if the brunette knew he wasn't indispensable and would probably be easily replaced.

As he followed Eren through the busy streets of Thebes, he started wondering where the dancer was leading him and if he would be back before the end of Jean's fencing lesson. He didn't want to get in trouble, and tagging along with Eren was probably not the best way of avoiding said troubles.  
However, the brunette's worrying thoughts were interrupted when Eren leaned towards him, his steps becoming slower.

“We're there.” He whispered, eying his surroundings like a fugitive living with the fear of being caught. “But let me warn you, Levi isn't a bad person, but he's a grumpy fool-mouthed old man. So I suggest you stay silent and let me do the talking.”

Marco gulped, what had he gotten himself into?

He followed Eren towards a big marble temple that was probably their final destination. Marco wondered if “Levi” was a priest. But he knew that in any case, neither him nor Eren would be allowed to enter the temple, it was a privilege reserved for the priests.  
As they got closer, Marco spotted an angry looking little guard, coiffed with a strange black helmet with long pointy ears. Taking a closer look, the freckled brunette understood that this helmet was supposed to represent a jackal's head and that the temple must be dedicated to Anubis, protector of the dead and embalming, and god of funerals and death.  
Surprisingly, Eren waved at the frowning guard, stopping in front of him, towering over him from at least two heads.

“Hey Levi, how is it going today?” Eren asked, a wide grin plastered on his face. So this was the famous Levi he mentioned. 

“What do you want brat, can't you see I'm on duty?” Was Levi's biting answer.

Marco was skeptical as to how this visibly unpleasant guard could help him in any way. But still, he did as he was told and stayed silent as Eren conversed with Levi. After all, his father always told him not to judge a book by its cover.

“I can see it very clearly, but my friend Marco here,” Eren said, pointing to the very tense brunette beside him “who is by the way the prince's personal servant, could use your incredible knowledge of reptiles and other scary creatures.”

Levi snorted.

“Flattery won't get you anywhere brat.” The guard frowned. He then turned his sharp obsidian gaze to Marco, looking at him scornfully, despite his short size. “And what information can the prince's personal cock-sucker want from me?” He asked, defiantly.

Marco winced at that title; it was extremely degrading. But he swallowed back his pride, as well as the rather colorful reply he had in mind, hoping it would be worth it. Eren beat him to reply, probably fearing Marco would loose his temper.

“Well, maybe you heard about it, but the prince was attacked by a snake a few nights ago, and we wondered, if we were to describe it to you, could you tell us if it was a dangerous one or not?” 

Levi raised an eyebrow, resulting in Eren sighing before he added a low “please”.  
Levi's arched eyebrow came back to its default frowning position.

“No need to describe it, Priest Nick already asked for my services to identify the snake a few days ago.” 

“Really?!” Was Eren's answer, his mouth twisting in a mischievous smile “You're more of an expert than I thought.”

Levi brushed off Eren's comment and turned back to Marco, for he was the interested party in this story.

“The snake that was found in the prince's room was a black mamba. It's a specie from the lands south from here, and its venom is highly toxic. The prince wouldn't have survived a day if he had been bitten.” Levi explained “The snake Nick brought me was actually one of those used by Paraoh's snake charmers; I can't believe those idiots didn't even notice one was missing!” He added with a forced laugh, full of disdain.

Marco processed the information he just got. So the snake ending up in the prince's bed was probably not an attempted murder, but a real accident. Someone probably left the snake's cage open a bit too long. To err was human.

“But still, I can't quite understand why a diurnal snake like the black mamba would end up in the prince's bed in the middle of the night...” Levi commented.

The look Levi sent him suggested that maybe it wasn't that much of an accident after all, and Marco would still have to keep an eye open so that next time (even if he hoped there wouldn't be a next time), he could protect the prince with his own hands.

Marco and Eren thanked Levi for his help before leaving him to his guarding duty. The short guard didn't even utter a goodbye, eying them darkly as they walked away.  
Marco's first impression on Levi hadn't been what one would call “good”, but upon leaving him, his opinion had changed. Just like Anubis could be seen at first as a negative god, since he dealt with death, but was indeed the protector of afterlife, Levi, behind his sour face, was actually a decent person. Thus, in Marco's opinion his place as a guard in the jackal god temple suited him.

As they got back to the palace, Marco thanked Eren too for his help, and dared asking him how come he knew this strange little man.

“I spotted him one day he was at the palace, and I was intrigued by his pointy helmet. You gotta admit it's funny” Eren answered, turning to Marco with a grin. “At first he kept insulting me, but he wasn't like anyone I ever met, so I kept talking to him.”

Both boys got back into the palace, not running into any guard this time either.

“And it turns out he's a really interesting person, and his job as a guard in Anubis' temple is really nice, so I asked him if he could take me as his disciple.” Eren continued “I was tired of the dancing thing anyway, and since Jean didn't-” He made an obvious effort to use an appropriate phrasing, trying to avoid upsetting Marco. “-need me anymore, I had a lot of free time.”

“So, did Levi accept?” The freckled brunette asked, curious.

“Yeah!” Eren grinned brightly “It took a lot of persuasion and pleading, but from now on, I'm not a dancer anymore, I'm a guard apprentice.”

Eren's joy was communicative and Marco sent him a beaming smile of his own.

“It's wonderful Eren, I'm really happy for you!” He exclaimed.

With all their chatting, they ended up in front of Jean's room without noticing it. Eren looked at the tall door, eyes lost in thoughts.

“It's a bit thanks to you, you know.” He said with a small smile, calmer than Marco ever saw him. 

But the ex-dancer didn't give the brunette time to ask him why, for his energetic side quickly returned, and he excused himself with his signature devilish grin, disappearing into the maze of corridors.

–---------

After Eren left, Marco felt the exhaustion from his little trip outside with him fall onto his body and mind. It did him good, and he was really thankful to Eren for advising him and accompanying him, but it was still dragging his feet that he entered Jean's room, planning to directly sprawl onto his personal couch bed.  
It looked like someone else got the same idea as he did, for in the bedroom, Marco was met with the sight of a visibly tired Jean, lying on his stomach, head buried in his pillow so only his messy blond hair could be seen, his face completely hidden by the fluffy material.  
Marco would have sworn Jean was asleep, but when he stepped more into the room, closing the door behind him, Jean turned his head, locking his tawny gaze on his slave.

“Marco” He whined, like an agonizing animal. “I think my fencing teacher broke my back, do something!”

The brunette sighed, shaking his head at the prince's attitude.

“I'm sure it's not broken.” He reassured, coming to sit on the edge of the bed, beside Jean's head. “You were probably a bit too out of practice, that's what you get for skipping your classes.”

Jean let out an indignant huff, then shifted to take a better look at his slave, the motion causing him to wince.

“I didn't ask you to lecture me. Keep your mouth shut and massage me!” He groaned, annoyed by the addition of Marco's boldness and his aching muscles.

Marco chose to stay silent for a while, pondering. He got up from the bed, earning a whine from the prince. 

“I don't know, you're not asking me very nicely.”

The brunette knew he would end up accepting to massage Jean's sore back, but he was in the mood for a bit of teasing. Maybe Eren's devilish personality had rubbed on him a little.

Jean slammed his face back onto his pillow and growled. He was frustrated for not being obeyed directly, but he repressed his urge to work himself up and let words he didn't mean escape his lips. It was useless anyway, he learned a while ago that threats were ineffective against his freckled slave. So however frustrated he was, Jean surrendered. He was too tired to fight anyway.

“Please” He whispered.

Although the word was muffled against Jean's pillow, Marco still heard it, even though he didn't say so.

“What was that? I didn't quite hear you.”

A whimper escaped Jean's lips as he switched from frustration to despair. He repeatedly banged his legs on the bed, like a child throwing a tantrum, tangling them in the sheets until he was trapped, unable to move. He winced, his back hurting as he tried to free himself, face still buried in his pillow. After a minute of struggling, the prince's movements stopped altogether in an agonizing groan.  
Marco held back a giggle and approached the bed, sitting down again. His hand found its way to Jean's hair out of a habit he shouldn't have let install.   
Jean turned his head to him, and it seemed like it was a colossal effort for him just to do so. His face was pale and his tawny eyes pleading, his kohl smudged from his previous shuffling.

“Can you massage me, please?” He required, his low voice sending a shiver down Marco's spine.

The brunette lost himself in Jean's gaze for a second. The prince's eyes were intriguing, especially right now, with his pupils dilated in the early evening light, and Marco felt drawn towards them, not unlike he had a few days ago.   
However this time he didn't come closer.

“Alright.” He finally gave in, his hand leaving Jean's hair as he got up again.

The prince settled more comfortably onto his bed, the ghost of a satisfied smile on his tired lips, while Marco reached for a jar of Olibanum oil, generously spreading some on his hands.  
It was going to be his first time giving someone a massage, and the brunette hoped he wouldn't be too bad. He had to admit he was a little nervous.

Marco clumsily got into position, his weight resting on the knee he put on the bed, while his other leg dangled from the bed's edge. He rubbed his hands against each other, making his palms warmer. He never gave anyone a massage, but he knew the warmth would help relax the tensed muscles.

The brunette raised his hands above Jean's back, but he stopped mid air, hesitating. His cheeks felt warm and he was sure he was blushing. Jean didn't make any comment, his previous impatience gone as he waited patiently for Marco to settle down to work.  
With a deep breath, the Marco finally let his fingers fall onto Jean's naked back. He started by gently rubbing the prince's shoulders, not putting too much pressure on the traumatized muscles there.  
Jean shifted a bit under his touch, and his freckled slave immediately stopped, afraid he did something wrong. 

“I didn't tell you to stop.” Jeans stated, looking at his slave over his shoulder.

“S-sorry” Marco stuttered, his confidence from before, when he teased the prince, completely gone. “I thought I did something wrong. I-I've actually never done this before.” He confessed.

Jean let out a strange strangled groan in his pillow, but it wasn't an annoyed one, and when his eyes met Marco's again, they were burning. He licked his lips and it was endearing. 

“You didn't do anything wrong, I barely felt you fingers.” He said. “Don't be afraid to put more force into it, I'm not made of glass.”

Tawny eyes released Marco from their hold and the brunette went back to the task at hand.   
This time when he sprawled his hands other Jean's shoulders, he made sure to apply more pressure on the hard patches of muscles there. Jean let out a pained gasp as Marco's long fingers started kneading the muscles, but the prince prevented his slave from stopping with a breathless “Y-yes that's more like it”.

Marco flushed. He tried not to pay too much attention to Jean's panting breaths and winces as he worked in his sore muscles, trying to ease the tension in them without hurting the prince too much.  
After a few minutes, the brunette's efforts were rewarded by a content sigh. The prince's shoulders finally started to relax, and instead of wincing, he was now smiling to his pillow. Marco kindly continued massaging the relaxed area, just to give Jean a break before he moved on to another tensed muscle group.  
Now that his lips weren't stuck around pained gasps, the prince took the opportunity to start a conversation.

“Priest Nick came in earlier. He said the snake belonged to the snake charmers...” He trailed off.

Marco tried to make the little “Oh” that escaped him sound surprised. He didn't want to tell Jean that he already knew that. He didn't know how he would take it. Probably not so well.  
Which reminded him that, surprisingly, the prince didn't question where he had been during his fencing lesson. He was probably too tired for the this question to have crossed his mind. Or maybe he just didn't care.

“Their snakes were kept in the room just under mine, and one of them escaped. So they were moved elsewhere to prevent a new incident.” He continued “But Priest Nick said I had nothing to fear, they weren't venomous anyway.”

Marco frowned. Although his intention was probably to put Jean's mind at rest, he thought the priest shouldn't have lied to him. Jean's life had been in danger that night, and he deserved to be informed of it, even if it would inevitably worry him.  
In his frustration, Marco gave a particularly hard press on Jean's still recovering muscles.

“Ah!”

The brunette froze upon hearing the moan Jean just let out. He immediately removed his hands from the prince's shoulders and placed them back onto another area in the middle of his back. He started vigorously working on this new muscle group to distract his mind from the sound he just heard. However he came across a particularly hard spot and the push of his fingers against it made Jean arch his back in reflex. The prince let his head drop into the his pillow and bit his lips as Marco tried to ease the tension in this particular spot, without focusing too much on the nice curve of the Jean's back. It was hard.   
The brunette tried his best not to hurt the prince more than he already was, but when Jean clenched his fists beside his head, he stopped his massage.

“My prince are you alright?” He asked, worried.

“Y-yeah” Jean answered, shifting a bit on the bed as sweat trickled down his temples. “I'm fine, continue.”

Marco realized he was sweating too, either from the effort he was producing or from the constant blushing the closeness of the prince's body awoke on his cheeks. Probably a little bit of both.  
Jean sighed as his muscles finally agreed to relax, his raised hips falling back onto the mattress, boneless. The worst was behind him, and he asked Marco to move on to the lower part of his back.  
The muscles there were a lot more supple, and Jean sank a little bit more into his soft mattress, purring as Marco's hands glided over his smooth skin.

“For someone who never gave a massage, you're good Marco” The prince's comment ended with another moan of satisfaction, making his slave's blush reach the tip of his ears. The usually cool evening air suddenly felt very hot to Marco. 

“T-thank you my prince.” He answered.

Jean turned to meet Marco's eyes, his eyes half lidded and a bit glassy.

“Call me Jean.” He breathed.

Marco's heart skipped a beat before it started thundering into his chest, making his blood pound into his ears. Very hot indeed.

“When it's only the two of us, you can call me Jean.” The prince repeated, closing his eyes, completely relaxed.

Marco nodded his head before realizing the prince couldn't see the gesture. 

“Okay” He weakly voiced his agreement “Jean.” 

The name felt strange on his tongue, but not unpleasant. It was met with another content sigh from the prince, and the sense of trust and acknowledgment the mutual first name use brought Marco made him smile softly. It was a step towards respect, a step towards equality. Maybe it was a small one, but it was still there, and for now, it was enough.

The freckled slave carried on with his massage, his arms however getting a bit stiff from fatigue, but also from the tension the proximity of Jean's body provoked in him. Marco watched his hands spread the oil on the very end of the prince's lower back, stopping just above his slightly brought down shendyt, so he wouldn't stain the noble fabric. From his spot, he could make out the birth of Jean's bottom, and the sight of his hands near it made him feel inexplicably warm.   
His head started spinning, the dizzying scent of the perfumed oil mixed with the thick evening breeze disorienting him.  
Marco blinked in an attempt to chase the fog that sneakily started obscuring his mind. However it wasn't really effective, so he stopped massaging Jean and rubbed his tired eyes with his forearm, careful not to blind himself by accidentally putting oil into them.  
The prince didn't protest at the loss of warmth and contact on his skin. Instead of the displeased groan he expected, Marco heard the prince let out a soft, barely audible snore.

Shifting to take a better look at the Jean's face, Marco found out he had fallen asleep. His breaths were deep and slow, and his features were relaxed into a peaceful smile. Seeing that small but still present smile on the prince's face caused a similar fond one to reach Marco's lips.  
The brunette got up, easing his weight from the bed as gradually as possible, not wanting to wake the prince, and fetched a blanket to put on his still oil-painted back. He didn't want Jean to catch a cold.

The prince must have been literally exhausted to fall asleep like he just did, when the sun wasn't even completely set.

As Marco watched Jean sleep for a few minutes, standing on his bedside like a guardian angel would, he couldn't keep his hand from wandering into the mop of blond hair merely visible under the blanket, relishing into the feeling of Jean's soft hair strands under his fingers. 

“Good night.” He whispered, smiling around the name about to leave his lips. “Jean.”


	8. Between Sekhmet and Ptah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been asked a lot (at least more than before) when the chapter was going to be out and finally, there it is!
> 
> I'd like to say that I try to update every 2 to 3 weeks. I do my best to keep this schedule, but it's never really precise (I can't say I'll update every two sundays for example...). So please bear with me and be patient, I try my best to update regularly :).
> 
> Trashcanalma on tumblr made a [beautiful fanart](http://trashcanalma.tumblr.com/post/114606689228/alright-then-ill-stay-here-with-you-so-try-to) for this fic, it made me really really happy so I share it with all of you readers out there ^^.
> 
> Enjoy the new chapter!

Marco's eyes were closed. He wondered why he accepted to participate in such activity? What he first thought would be harmless and probably fun turned, because of a certain prince's reckless attitude, into a nightmare.

“Jean, please stop!”

The prince only chuckled, his whip cracking into the air with more force than ever. Marco held onto the piece of wood under his hands tighter, his nails almost messing up the nice golden painting. The wind was whistling in his ears and he had difficulty breathing. The unusual speed was making his stomach turn.

“I'm gonna be sick!”

The threat of having his slave soil the precious chariot finally made Jean slow the two panting horses pulling the cart. The prince strongly pulled onto the reins and the two thoroughbred slowed down to an airy trot.  
Marco took a deep breath, hoping the air filling his lungs would help keeping the content of his stomach inside him. His face was white as a sheet, all of his blood gone from it, frozen into his veins.  
Jean laughed while strongly patting his back, and Marco had to hold back a retch. He didn't expect his first chariot ride to be so eventful.

It all started with Jean wanting to go for a ride alongside the Nile. Marco had stated he couldn't accompany him, for he didn't know how to ride. Jean couldn't accept that negative answer and he had the good idea to instead use one of his father's war chariot as a mean of transport. Marco had been excited by that proposition and at first it had been nice, the horses were kept to a calm and even pace, and the view of the Nile was indeed beautiful. But then, Jean got bored by the sight of the river. Indeed, he had witnessed its beauty for so many days since he came to this world that it had stopped affecting him long ago. Marco couldn’t understand that; he was sure he could gaze upon the mighty topaz waters of the Nile for the rest of his life without getting sick of it.

So ignoring his slave's protest, Jean had decided to add spice to their little drive, loudly clicking his tongue to make the horses fall into a canter. Marco was used to only travel on foot and the speed of the chariot at that point had been scary, but also exciting. It felt pleasantly dizzying and he could have gotten used to the wind messing his hair. It was probably Marco's joyful laugh that had fueled Jean's brashness and led him to push the horses faster, their canter soon turning into a furious gallop.  
Marco (and especially his stomach) hadn't appreciate that gait _at all_. He had tried to adapt to it but it was a lost cause. It took him a considerable amount of time and pleas to make Jean stop his race against the wind itself.

And now here he was, legs wobbly as he struggled to get out of the finally stopped chariot. He had to lean onto one of the drenched horse's back to stay up, but he continued moving forward, wanting to put as much distance as possible between him and the abominable chariot.  
Jean got out of the chariot too, still laughing, but also concerned by his slave's state. He quickly caught up to the trembling Marco who had stopped, bent down, hands clutching at his thigh as he tried to suppress another retch.

“Wow, you okay there?” Jean asked while gently patting one of the horses' nose.

Marco had to take a deep breath before he could answer that “yes he was okay, and it wasn't thanks to Jean”.

The prince let out a soft chuckle before not so softly patting his slave's back.

“I'm sure the thing I wanted to show you will cheer you up!”

Marco's eyebrows rose and he looked up, his gaze following Jean's extended arm, only to find the most gigantic building site he had ever seen.  
Myriads of slave's silhouettes were darkening the huge scaffolding surrounding the pyramid that was under construction. Even up from the dune where they stood, the pyramid's height was vertiginous. And yet, it wasn't even finished. The high afternoon sun bathed the construction with its rays, making the pale stone that formed the pyramid's structure almost look like gold.

“Wow” Was the only sound that escaped Marco, earning another chuckle from Jean.

“I knew you'd like it.” He said, puffing his chest “Impressive isn't it?”

Marco nodded vigorously “It's magnificent.”

“It's my father's tomb. It's going to be the largest and highest pyramid ever built.” Jean excitedly explained, grinning proudly. “Such a great Pharaoh deserves the best.”

There was no irony in the prince's tone. Despite their difficult relationship, Jean admired his father. He would never admit it, but Marco knew he was trying his best to become as good a sovereign. Of course he still needed time and training, but throughout the weeks Marco spent with him, he was making undeniable progress, especially when it came to keep in check his short temper. But he still had a long way to go, not able to eat normally in presence of his father yet.  
However if someone trusted Jean could do it, it was Marco. He came to appreciate the prince for who he was; not a spoiled child, but a clever, sometimes insecure young man trying to prove himself worthy of a burden most people would never be able to shoulder. And Marco was sure that when the time would come, Jean would make a great Pharaoh.

However for now, Jean's behaviour wasn't exemplary. He was skipping his fencing lesson to show Marco the unfinished pyramid, stating that the fencing master was trying to kill him more than teach him. Marco couldn't really argue with that; he had witnessed one of these fencing lessons, where he had discovered that Jean was really good at handling a sword, but also that his master was a demanding and probably slightly sadistic torturer. And with impossibly thick eyebrows. The man kept making Jean repeat the same tiring movements, even if the prince was executing them perfectly, and then he would spare with him, with no mercy, not stopping his assaults until his pupil ended up with his bottom hitting the ground.  
Everyone would need a break from that kind of exercise, and besides, despite the terrible chariot ride, Marco couldn't complain about this little getaway.

“Wait until you see the inside, it was decorated by the most talented painters!”

Jean took his slave by the hand and the horses reins in the other and led them down the dune, so they could take a closer look to the pyramid. 

“How long does it take to build that kind of marvel?” Marco asked, awestruck.

“Probably around 20 years.” Jean answered. “All I know is they started the works on the very first day I stepped into this world.”

Marco was amazed by such a long term work. He smiled at the thought that this pyramid grew like Jean did, and how it was still incomplete, just like the prince.  
But that smile soon faded when the cracking of a whip was heard, soon followed by an agonizing cry. 

Marco freed his hand from Jean's strong grip and instinctively ran towards the sound.  
At the large foot of the pyramid, lying on the harsh sand beside a heavy looking rock block, was the silhouette of a strong man he knew.  
The freckled slave gritted his teeth and quickened his steps. The guard holding the whip raised it above his head and brought it down against Reiner's back again, then again and again and again in a violent frenzy.  
Every meter felt like a kilometer for Marco, the sand slowing his running, making it difficult to reach his friend fast enough.  
Eyes stuck on Reiner's writhing form, he was seeing red, and he completely ignored Jean's voice calling for him, ordering him to stop, to come back. 

Almost. He was almost there. 

Reiner's exhausted body soon stopped moving and tears started to fill Marco's eyes, blurring his vision.  
A desperate shout escaped Marco's lips when he jumped onto the guard, trapping his raised arm in a deadly grip before he could hit Reiner one time too much.  
But the brunette wasn't strong enough and after the element of surprise passed, he soon found himself crashing into the ground beside Reiner as the guard violently pushed him away.  
Marco groaned in pain, his head hurt and he had to squint his eyes to be able to look at the guard without being dazzled by the burning sun. However those deep brown eyes soon widened when the man above him menacingly raised his hand again, the instrument of torture still in it.  
Without thinking, Marco shielded Reiner, covering the blond's profusely bleeding back with his smaller form. He shut his eyes tightly, waiting for the impact.

“ENOUGH!”

Despite Jean's roar, the whip still clacked.

But Marco didn't feel the bite of the whip on his skin. Carefully opening his eyes, he turned back to find Jean standing up between the guard and them, his arms opened, protecting. Marco slowly stood up, trying to understand what just happened.  
The guard soon came back into his line of sight, and the expression he bore wasn't one the brunette expected. His dark bulging eyes were filled with cold fear and sweat was beading down his forehead, not from the sun, but from stress. His mouth kept opening and closing into the air, the combination with his labored breath making strange wheezing noises.  
What on earth could have put him into such state?

Marco soon got his answer when Jean turned back to look at him. The brunette's breath caught in his throat upon seeing the angry red trickle of blood running down the prince's cheek. The end of the guard's whip had hit Jean's cheek, cutting open his left cheekbone instead of the tender skin of Marco's back.  
The freckled slave's hands came in front of his mouth as Jean's fingers carefully brushed against his wound, wincing at the burning sensation it caused. 

“Marco, what were you thinking, running off like this?” Jean asked, frowning. He seemed dangerously calm.

Dumbfounded, Marco didn't know what to answer. Didn't Jean realize how cruelly Reiner was being treated? How those relentless hits could have ended up killing the blond slave?!  
The brunette was thankful to Jean for stopping the guard, but his voice was icing when he finally spoke.

“Oh, I don't know, I was probably thinking about saving Reiner's life!”

Jean's eyes dangerously darkened; he was obviously dissatisfied with Marco's sudden arrogance. Marco knew the gaze Jean was sending him all too well and prepared himself to receive a steep scolding.  
But before Jean could raise his voice against his slave, he was distracted by two hands suddenly gripping his ankle. Jean quickly turned around, his hard gaze falling onto the guard who was now kneeling at his feet, head downcast, pleading.

“My prince, please forgive me, it was not my intention to hurt a regal being like yourself” 

Requiring the prince's forgiveness when he was fuming with rage wasn't a good move. The guard should have waited and let Jean take out his anger on Marco like he was about to. But instead, he continued imploring his prince.

“I know my crime doesn't deserve your highness' forgiveness, but please, please!”

The guard was very close to crying, irrational fear of his punishment eating into him, making his next words incoherent. But Jean averted his eyes, kicking the man's hands away with disdain.

“Oh shut up” The prince scoffed.

Marco's fist clenched tight by his sides. He was losing his usually cool temper at an alarming rate, hos blood now boiling in his veins. Even though the guard had almost whipped Reiner to death, Marco couldn't understand how Jean was able to despise him like he did. He was a human being and he was clearly suffering too.  
Marco suddenly wanted to take back his thoughts from before, maybe he was wrong, maybe Jean wasn't as promising as he wanted to believe.  
The prince's attention turned back to his slave, and he menacingly closed the distance between them. Marco straightened his back, courageously holding Jean's burning eyes.

“Reiner needs medical care” He stated.

Jean's frown deepened, making his glare impossibly darker.

“It's not your problem” was his cold reply.

“That's not for you to decide” Marco snapped back.

Jean gritted his teeth. Marco was knowingly pushing him and it was driving him mad. Out of words, he instead let his body express his feelings, his hands reaching Marco's shoulders and tightening in a bruising grip, his teeth gritted.  
Marco winced but his gaze didn't falter. He was determined to make his point; he wanted Jean to understand him.

“I don't understand why you're angry Jean. That man was being unnecessarily cruel, someone had to stop it.”

Jean rolled his eyes indignantly, letting out an annoyed groan. “He was just doing his job!” He exclaimed, shaking Marco's shoulders violently.

“Have you seen the state of Reiner's back?!” Marco shouted, completely loosing his barely held composure. He wanted to push Jean away but he didn't, he was too angry, he needed the confrontation.

“If he was slacking off, he deserved it!” Jean shouted back.

Marco froze for a second, tears of anger and sadness filling his eyes. He didn't want to cry, he wanted to stay strong in front of Jean, but how could he when the prince was being so heartless?

“D- do you really think that?” He asked in a strangled, almost breaking voice. Then his anger took the upper hand again. “Do you think being whipped to death would make you work harder?!”

Jean let out a disgusted huff.

“I wouldn't know, I'm not a slave” He retorted nastily his words like acid.

The s-word had the effect of a punch in Marco's gut, probably stinging more than a lash would have. He was sure he stopped breathing for a second, his head lowering in defeat. His shoulders started shaking under Jean's bruising hold.

“I'm a slave and I don't think it would.” Marco whispered, the words burning his tongue like his tears burned his eyes. He looked up to Jean, blurry brown orbs meeting tawny blazing ones. “Do _you_ think I'd work harder under such treatment?”

Jean shook his head, refusing that argument.

“Don't compare what can't be compared, you're a domestic slave, you're not tough like the quarry slaves, they can handle it.” 

“And if I was tough enough, would you let them?” Marco quickly asked, voice impossibly low.

Jean was clearly taken aback by that question, his grip on his slave's shoulders slackening. He slowly moved his hands from freckled shoulders to freckled cheeks, his touch soft, contrasting with the way his eyes twitched.

“Of course I wouldn't let them!” He exclaimed, shaking Marco's face a little as if to knock some sense into him. “Why do you think I stepped in front of that stupid guard?” He groaned.

In another situation, those words would have touched Marco's heart, but now, he only wanted to look away from the prince. However Jean's hands on his face made every movement impossible. So he had to look Jean straight in the eyes when he released his last argument, the last chance he had to make Jean understand how illogical and unfair he was being. “I think there's no difference. You shouldn't treat me differently, we're equal, we're the same. I'm a human being, just like Reiner, just like that guard...” He paused to give more impact to his last words “just like you.”

It was like a bucket of ice had been thrown onto Jean's face. The fire in his eyes died. He was frozen, looking into Marco's still teary eyes, baffled. Of course he understood what Marco wanted to tell him. And deep inside him, he knew what Marco did was brave and kind, and more regal than anything he ever did. But he had been so scared. So incredibly scared when he had seen the guard's weapon hovering over his slave's back. For a second he had seen blood everywhere on the freckled skin, and he had feared he wouldn't be able to move, unable to save Marco.  
If Marco wanted to teach Jean a lesson, so did the prince. He wanted to make his slave understand that what he did was reckless and dangerous. As a slave, he couldn't do anything he pleased without consequences. If he hadn't been there... Jean refused to think about it again.  
Marco was different, even if he persisted to tell him otherwise, in Jean's heart it was clear, he wasn't just a slave anymore. Not after so many days spent together. Not when he was sure he wouldn't be able to sleep anymore without at least feeling his presence beside him.

The prince let go of Marco's cheeks with a tired sigh. He had already lost this battle when he stepped up to protect his slave. He feared he had lost even before that, back into that small room, when Marco had made his whole body vibrate and his nose bleed. 

Jean moved towards Reiner, bending down to grab one of his muscular arms. He looked up to Marco, wanting to smile at the boy's questioning expression, but he was too tired for it. Marco's eyes were still wet; he was so genuine, every single one of his feelings, however fleeting they were, always showed on his face. It made Jean's heart clench painfully.

“Are you going to help me or do I have to carry that monster alone?” He asked, finding it hard to make his tone fake humor.

Marco's lips formed a cute “o” shape before he came rushing to Reiner's side, taking hold of his other arm.

The prince and his slave helped the barely conscious blond up, carrying him with difficulty towards the royal chariot. They passed the guard who was still sprawled onto the sand, flabbergasted by the scene he just witnessed of a slave arguing with the prince of Egypt. Jean looked down on him, but this time without any wrath.

“You're dismissed, I never want to see you on this building site again.” He coldly ordered.

The guard kept bowing, face down onto the sand, his incessant thank you's filling the thick desert's air as Jean and Marco slowly moved forward.  
The two wheels of the chariot creaked under Reiner's weight, but the vehicle stood firm even if it wasn't designed to carry more than two passengers.  
What worried Jean more was the horses. They were tired and thirsty from their previous gallopade, and he hoped they'd be strong enough to take them back home.

The prince clicked his tongue to set the animals onwards, refusing to touch the whip resting against the sculpted wood of the chariot.  
Marco didn't get sick, he even was the one to urge Jean, begging him to go faster, always faster, until the wheels couldn't rotate more without coming off the axles.

\----------

The two brave horses took them back.

Marco was quick to get out of the chariot, his gait this time assured. Jean entrusted the horses to a random slave before helping Marco move Reiner. That he couldn't delegate.

As they traveled through the long corridors of the palace, Jean pushed away all the servants worrying about the wound on his face. He asked to be left alone with Marco and Reiner, not answering when asked what he was doing. He only ordered, on Marco's suggestion, for Bertholdt to be brought to the slave quarters. 

It stung, but it didn't matter.

\----------

Marco sat on his old bed plank in the empty slave quarters. It was smaller than he remembered. His hand rested on Bertholdt's knee, near Reiner's head. The blond was sprawled on his lanky lover's laps, his wounds carefully taken care of with the best of all the ointments Jean owned. Reiner was resting, asleep, not witnessing Bertholdt's silent crying.

Marco tried to comfort his friend with his kind words and his warm presence while Jean awkwardly stood in a corner, looking at his feet.  
He never came to the slave sleeping quarters. He never knew what it looked like, and never was curious about it, for it wasn't his problem. But now that he saw how small they were, how they lacked any kind of privacy, he felt inexplicably bad. He couldn't believe Marco had to live there.

After a few minutes of listening to Bertholdt's light sobbing, Jean felt faint. Sweat was running down his back and his ears were buzzing, his blood pulsing there and inside the wound on his cheek. 

_We're equal, we're the same_

The prince discreetly left the room, his quick walk soon turning into a run as he rushed back to the safety of his chambers.

\----------

“Aren't you going to go after him?”

Marco looked up to meet Bertholdt's now dry but dark circled eyes. His friend was clearly exhausted. Marco sighed deeply.

“I think we both need a bit of time to cool our heads”

The ghost of a smile passed over Bertholdt's sad expression.

“You sound like a couple who just had an argument.”

And Bertholdt wasn't entirely wrong. Marco rubbed his face with the hand that wasn't resting on Bertholdt's knee. He hoped Jean would be okay, but right now, he didn't want to be in the prince's presence. He needed time to himself, to think. But he also had to explain the situation to Bertholdt; given Reiner's state, he deserved to be informed of what happened.  
So, trying to keep his emotions in check, Marco told his friend everything, even the smallest details, even the harshest words. 

At the end of Marco's narration, Bertholdt's head had dropped low. The lanky slave was biting his lower lip, trying to keep away the images of Reiner being beaten to death, bleeding on the sand, lifeless.

“I wish Reiner could have been a domestic slave too.” He said, voice trembling and tears forming at the corner of his eyes.

Marco realized he never found out how Bertholdt and Reiner became slaves, but he understood that, given his impressive build, Reiner was seen as more fitted for outdoor works. The freckled brunette hesitated but still couldn't hold back his questions, asking Bertholdt how he became a slave and how he met Reiner.

A mix of hurt, nostalgia and fondness filled Bertholdt's watering eyes when he met Marco's curious ones.

“It's a long story so I'll go to the important parts.” He said with a small smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Marco shifted on his uncomfortable wood plank, triying to get as comfortable as possible so he could properly listen to his friend's story.

Bertholdt took a deep breath and started his narration.

“My parents were domestic slaves so I was born in the palace, about 20 summers ago. At that time, the Great Royal Wife, was pregnant with Jean. I was brought up by her.”

Marco nodded, encouraging Bertholdt to continue. He had already heard that it was the household's mistress responsibility to nourish the slave's children and bring them up. Indeed, the slaves, with their work, didn't have time to do so. But in a palace like this, he would have expected the task to be delegated to courtesans. Seeing Bertholdt's fond expression, Jean's mother must have been a very caring mother.

“My parents died when I was around 10, but afterward I have always been well treated by the kitchen slaves. They never set me to hard tasks.” Bertholdt's teeth came nervously chewing on his lips before he continued. “Jean's mother made sure of it too. I was very sad when she passed away, she was a kind woman.”

Marco looked down to his feet, his heart clenching when his imagination made up a young Jean's image, face wet with tears grieving his mother, and sent it flashing before his eyes.  
Bertholdt sighed sadly, reluctantly moving to the next part of his story.

“As for Reiner, he told me he was born in a family of farmers. But they didn't produce enough food to feed their numerous children.” He said, gently stroking the asleep blond's hair. “He decided to become a slave so he could have a roof over his head and three warm meals in exchange for his work.”

_I thought slaves chose to work at the palace because it was an easier life_

So that was what Jean was talking about the other day. Reiner's family had been so poor that he had to give up his freedom in order to survive. The though was understandable, but also heartbreaking to Marco who had been snatched away from his family, against his will. He couldn't imagine how hard it must be to deliberately leave your loved ones.

“At first Reiner was satisfied with it.” Bertholdt continued with a sad smile. “At that time he was working as a gardener, and I met him while strolling around the gardens in my free time.” A small blush tinted Bertholdt's cheeks, making Marco smile softly. It was clear that his friend really did love Reiner with all his heart. “With Pharaoh and his wife's permission, we even got married.” The tall slave added, unable to hide his fond smile. “I know it must sound absurd to you Marco, but at that time I was happy with my slave situation.”

Marco didn't find it absurd, but he was a bit surprised. He had learned since he came here to open his mind; to accept that the situation he used to hate with all his heart wasn't experienced in the same way by the other slaves around him. It was an important lesson that applied to any situation.

Bertholdt's expression soon turned grave again. “But a few months before you arrived, he was moved to work in the quarries, they were lacking slaves because of numerous-” Bertholdt held back a small whimper, his hand quickly coming in front of his mouth. He looked down to Reiner and shut his eyes tight.  
Marco gave him a second, not touching him, not talking to him. His friend finally let out a deep breath, eyes still closed.

“Numerous deaths.” He finished, voice trembling, soon falling into heavy sobs.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked.” Marco apologized, slowly rubbing his thumb on Bertholdt's knee, comforting.

His friend shook his head. He cleared his throat and swiftly whipped the tears from his eyes.

“No, it's okay.” He said, voice still cracking over some syllables. “Thank you for what you did today.”

Bertholdt's eyes were shining with tears and gratefulness when they met Marco's, their gratitude stronger than any word. 

“I'll have to thank Jean too.” Bertholdt sighed “And you also probably should.”

The knowing look his friend sent him made Marco's body move into action. Without words between them, Marco understood. Jean had helped him, Jean had been there for him, and even though he had been despicable, Marco should still be thankful.  
He jumped to his feet and with one last quick and awkward pat on Bertholdt's shoulder, he left.

\----------

It was shyly that Marco knocked on Jean's door before slowly pushing it open. He gauged the situation inside with a quick glance before stepping in, a tray of food balanced on one arm while he closed the door behind.

Jean was sitting on his bed, his back resting on the headboard, his eye staring into empty space. He wasn't alone there. Kiya was sitting between his stretched out legs, her head nestled against her master's collarbones, purring as to sooth him. The prince was stroking her speckled fur without thinking, like his soul had left his body.

Marco put the tray he was holding onto the bedside table and carefully moved closer to the bed. When Kiya turned to look at him, Jean didn't. The cheetah's stare wasn't menacing, just observant and she didn't bare her fangs when the young slave sat onto the edge of the bed.

Marco didn't know how to break the uncomfortable silence. His eyes fell onto the prince's face, but Jean still refused to look at him. Marco's gaze traveled down Jean's wounded cheek and he frowned, suddenly feeling guilty. He didn't ask Jean to protect him like he did, but the result was the same, the prince had been hurt because of him. And Marco should have offered to treat his wound as soon as they had left Reiner in Bertholdt's caring hands. But instead he had acted like a sulking child, stubbornly staying with the two other slaves when he wasn't needed, and intentionally ignoring Jean when he had fled the slave quarters.

Marco opened his mouth but quickly closed it, biting his lower lip. The words weren't decided to go out. So instead, the freckled slave reached out his hand to carefully hover over Jean's wound, not daring enough to touch it, afraid the prince would turn away.

“We should do something about this.” Marco finally stated, gathering enough courage to let his fingers make contact with Jean's bloodied cheek. The prince winced a bit and Marco frowned at the feeling of wetness under the pad of his fingers.  
Jean's tawny eyes met Marco's brown ones for a split second, quickly looking away again. But the prince still spotted his slave's puzzled expression.

“Kiya licked it.” Jean answered the unspoken question.

Marco grimaced. In the wild, animals cleaned their wounds with their own saliva, but he wasn't sure it would help Jean's wound heal faster. He was afraid it could cause more harm than good; who knew what Kiya's tongue had also licked that day, Jean's wound could become infected, and they had to avoid that possibility. Marco got up to fetch the ointment they had used on Reiner and then sat back onto the bed. 

Kiya moved away from Jean with one last lick on his cheek. The gesture made the prince chuckle as his slave let out a disgusted grunt. But Marco was glad the cheetah was giving him some space to work. He coated his fingers with ointment from the jar in his hand and then carefully reached out to Jean's cheek again, gently applying the plant concoction on the wound. It was quite deep, and Marco hoped it wouldn't leave a scar on the prince's cheek like it usually did on Reiner's back. He would never forgive himself if the prince's delicate features ended up disfigured by his fault. 

Jean suddenly moved away with a painful whine. Marco gave a quick apologize before trying to go back to his task. But it turned out Jean was a terrible patient. He kept moving away from Marco's fingers, gesticulating like an impatient child. 

“Stop moving Jean! If I don't treat your wound properly it might get infected.” Marco scolded.

Jean shook his head, refusing to listen to reason. Definitely like a child.

“Come on” Marco encouraged, desperately trying to get Jean to stay in place. 

The young slave finally lost his patience and grabbed the prince's chin in one hand, forcing Jean to look him in the eyes.

“Stay still” He ordered as his ointment coated fingers went back to work on Jean's wound.

Jean let out a frustrated whine but showed no further resistance. He instead took the opportunity of being so close to Marco to take in his features from up close, admiring his face, trying to distract himself by counting the freckles splattered on his slave's cheeks. He blushed at how close they were and at the thought that he had just obeyed a slave.  
Marco was so engrossed in his task that he didn't notice how close he was to the prince, or how hot Jean's burning gaze was on him.  
When he was done, he gently let go of the prince's chin.

“See? It wasn't that bad.” He said smiling to Jean.

The prince had to gather all his strength to resist the urge to touch the heap of ointment resting cold on his cheek. He itched to smear it around, holding back that need by lacing both his hands together while his slave put the jar of ointment away. 

Seeing the prince wriggling from the corner of his eyes, Marco quickly got back to the bed, offering Jean the abandoned tray of food to distract him.  
Jean suspiciously looked down to the steaming bowl of stew before looking back to his slave.

“I gathered after what happened, you wouldn't want to dine with your father.” Marco explained, nervously scratching the back of his head.

Given Jean's groan, he guessed right. Jean eyed the food for a few more long seconds before spotting the two spoons beside the bowl of stew. He took one in his hand, admiring it with perplexity before suddenly holding it to Marco.

“You're eating with me?” 

The half-question half-statement made the freckled slave smile softly. He took the spoon and sat back beside the prince, nodding his head in agreement. “Of course”

They started eating the stew in silence, and Marco dared sparing a glance to his prince in the process, trying to be discreet so he wouldn't pressure him.  
Jean had gained weight during the last month where Marco had made sure he ate properly. His arms were larger and his ribs almost weren't showing anymore. The more appropriate diet also allowed Jean's muscles to finally be able to increase in volume; indeed, exercise like horse riding or fencing without a proper energy supply was useless when it came to building up muscles. You couldn't say Jean was extremely muscular, but he looked healthier now and Marco was glad he insisted to change his eating habits. His eyes shamelessly traveling down the prince's body, the freckled slave decided Jean looked good like this.

“If anyone asks, I fell off my horse and cut myself on a rock” 

Jean's voice interrupted Marco's train of thoughts and the young slave blushed when he realized he had been staring. It took Marco a little while to put together the pieces and understand what Jean was talking about. But when he did, he gave the prince a skeptical look. The brunette didn't like lies _at all_ and Jean knew it.

“I don't want you or that Reiner guy to get in trouble because of this” Jean explained, trying to convince his silent slave that in this case, lying was kind of necessary.

Marco looked down to the bowl of stew he was sharing with Jean. The prince wanted to protect him, and it was touching. When he had ran to Reiner's side back then, Marco never thought of the consequences his act might bring upon him, or Reiner, or even Jean. If someone discovered he was responsible closely or remotely, for hurting the heir to the throne, he might indeed get into big trouble. He gulped at the thought of going back to the dungeons, or worst. But deep inside him, Marco knew Jean wouldn't let him be taken away. He trusted the prince about that. 

Despite their argument in the afternoon, Marco knew Jean wasn't a bad person, and he knew what they had was special, very far away from the usual relationship between a slave and his master. And Marco didn't want that to be taken away from him, even if Jean sometimes annoyed him. He supposed it was the same for Jean, but probably more in a kind of possessive way. Even if most of the time the prince was treating him as his equal, Marco still felt like he was some kind of life-size toy that Jean refused to share. Except that contrarily to a toy, Marco had his own opinions and feelings, that he didn't hesitate in voicing if needed, even if it made Jean upset. Just like it did a few hours ago.  
Marco sighed. He had to say something about that, to discuss it with Jean now that their heads had time to cool. It was necessary if he wanted Jean to understand how he felt, and also to chase the slightly colder than usual atmosphere that was sneakily settling down between them.

“Jean” Marco started, gently trying to get the prince's attention. “Thank you for intervening.”

Jean's spoon stopped mid air, the prince's movements frozen for a second before he put the utensil back onto the tray. There was no need to be more precise, Jean knew perfectly what they were talking about.

“I couldn't let him hurt you.” He said “I'm not that cruel.”

Marco took a sharp intake of breath. “I thought you were cruel when you told me Reiner deserved that treatment.” He confessed, voice suddenly very low.

Jean clenched his fist, looking down. “I didn't really think he deserved it.” He groaned “But I was angry because I was afraid for you.” He added, looking straight into Marco's eyes, searching. The freckled slave felt a small blush reach his cheek. But even if knowing Jean cared for him made Marco's heart beat faster in his chest, it didn't excuse how he behaved, and the prince knew it.

“I agree that that sla-” Jean stopped before starting again. “that Reiner didn't deserve it, but it's the way things work here and you can't change it with a simple snap of the fingers.” 

Marco sighed. Jean was still stubborn but he was also partially right, but that didn't mean they should close their eyes and do nothing. 

“Pharaoh could have the power to change those things, if he wanted to that is.” Marco remarked.

Jean snorted. “If I ever become worthy enough to become Pharaoh.”

“I'm sure when the time comes you'll make a great Pharaoh” Marco said, resting his hand over Jean's paler one. “Knowing you don't really think the slaves are insignificant beings makes me feel better. I was … really hurt by what you said back then.” 

Marco's honesty made Jean's heart clench. He knew he had hurt his slave, he had intended to when he had chosen his words. But now he regretted it. He took Marco's hand in his, holding it firmly, like the brunette would disappear at any moment.

“I'm sorry about what I said. I never thought slaves to be worthless, especially you. But I was angry.” He apologized. Being angry didn't excuse him, but right now, Marco was being honest with him, and so, Jean wanted to thank him for it with as much honesty. “You were right in every way, but when you said you were the same as Reiner, I couldn't agree. I still don't agree.” He said, looking directly into Marco's bright shining eyes. “To me you're different, because you're important. And you can't ask me to ignore those feelings and treat you like I would a total stranger.”

Marco's eyes widened. It was probably the nicest thing Jean had ever said to him. And even if his apology wasn't the one he expected, he was all forgiven.  
Blushing, Jean squeezed Marco's hand tighter and brought their linked hands to his chest, where his heart was steadily beating. 

“You're the only friend I have, and I don't want to lose you because of my stupid temper.” Jean whispered, tears glistening at the corner of his eyes.

Marco's chest grew pleasantly warm. Jean saw him not as his slave but as his friend. The prince felt as good in his company as he did, and that was the happiest news he got since he came to Egypt. The brunette felt appreciated and needed and for the first time in months, he was able to say that right now he was happy. 

Marco was afraid he might cry too when he said that he wouldn't leave Jean because that's not what friends did. And when the prince suddenly brought his freckled slave into a bruising but sincere hug, knocking the bowl of stew down in the process. While the food spread on the carpet, Marco settled on gently caressing Jean's back, his touch feather-like, like he was afraid he might break him. The brunette still wasn't used to Jean opening his heart like this. It made the prince look smaller, younger and Marco felt deep inside him the need to protect the boy he liked to spend time with. Jean was so sensitive, he felt so much, just like his emotions were always bubbling under his skin. 

The stormy events of the day as well as fatigue, stress and fear of losing someone again finally got the better of Jean and he started softly sobbing into Marco's chest. The brunette's hand on Jean's back continued its stroking while he whispered praises and sweet comforting words into his ear. He thanked him again for taking the blow in his place, told him that he wouldn't leave him, that he was important and brave and strong, that what he finally did for Reiner was extremly kind.  
Exhausted, Jean's crying stopped, his shoulders no longer shaken by sobs, but falling into a relaxed state. He finally fell asleep in his slave's arm, and Marco, instead of letting him go, continued to hold him, shifting so they were both lying onto the prince's bed and bringing the covers over them so they wouldn't be cold during the night.  
Holding Jean safe, close against him, Marco automatically started stroking the asleep prince's hair and soon fell asleep too, lulled by Jean's comforting smell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The highest pyramid ever built is the Pyramid of Cheops (Great Pyramid of Giza) which is 146.5 metres (481 feet), so I imagine Pharaoh's futur tomb to be around that height. Building a pyramid took between 10 and 20 years, archeologists aren't sure.
> 
> Someone in the comments wanted some Reiner and Bertholdt back story. Well it was planed in this chapter, so here you go, hope you liked it!
> 
> Another comment suggested for Marco to get whipped, sorry but that's not going to happen, he's already been through enough and I feel it wouldn't have a use in term of character and story developpement (and Reiner is my scapegoat when it comes to physical injuries, poor thing).
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter, and see you next time everyone! :)


	9. Partying with Shezmu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've created a monster...
> 
> It's the first time I write such a long chapter, more than 10k!!! It's really something for me. I don't know what happened, but when I realized how long it was, I still decided not to cut it in half because in my opinion it would ruin the pacing.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this extra long update! :p

Marco violently woke up with a sneeze. It took him a few seconds to make out where he was, but he soon put the pieces back together.  
His sneeze probably resulted from how he had slept with his face buried into Jean's hair, the blond strands ending up tickling his nose too much. But the loud noise he just produced didn't seem to wake the prince, not even making him flinch.  
Marco smiled. Jean was usually a light sleeper, and it was rare to see him so relaxed.  
In his still half asleep haze, the young slave couldn't help but nuzzle the soft blond hair, breathing in its scent. Jean smelled like lotus and orange blossom and his slave gave a content sigh as the sweet fragrances filled his nostrils. 

But Marco soon jerked back. The light fog of sleep was starting to lift away from his brain as he realized what he just did. However his arm was stuck under Jean's body and it seemed like it had gone completely numb during the night, rendering him unable to move much.  
Marco sighed and ran his free hand through his hair before letting it fall limply over the edge of the bed. 

He was in trouble. In BIG trouble.

He watched Jean's peaceful sleeping face and he knew, even if he never experienced it before, what the oppressing feeling in his chest meant. He knew and it made him feel anxious. Those feelings for Jean were pleasant, bubbling in his whole body, making his skin tingle, but they were also very unnecessary.  
Marco shook his head, chasing the warmth spreading through him. He couldn't let himself fall for Jean. He was the prince of Egypt and Marco was just a mere slave. It could never work, and if it did, never for long; they would eventually both suffer.  
Besides, Jean would certainly never see him in the way Marco wanted to be seen, or treated the way he wanted to be treated, and the young slave didn't want just the carnal relationship that the prince would probably offer him.  
He had to nip his feelings in the bud and he had to do it quickly.

Marco's eyes fell back onto Jean when the prince shifted impossibly closer to him, snuggling against his chest, his even breathing tickling Marco's ribs. Jean's hands were clenched into fists and his knees were drawn to his chest, his legs resting against Marco's hips. He slept like a baby, curled up into himself like he was afraid of the outside world, protecting himself as much as such a harmless and fragile creature could. 

Marco sighed again. Burying his feelings so deep inside him that they would end up disappearing altogether would be easier said than done. He knew fairly well that the passionate heart didn't like to listen to the wise words of reason. Especially his own heart; it was an extremely bad decision-maker. 

A soft wet nudge against his free hand brought Marco out of his thoughts. He looked down to see Kiya sprawled at the foot of the bed, her neck stretched out so she could bump her cold nose against his hand.  
The young slave was surprised. It was the first time the cheetah really touched him willingly. She usually kept her distances, probably gauging the level of threat Marco represented. But now it seemed like she had decided that level wasn't that high, and that the slave was worthy enough to be allowed to touch her.

Marco had never seen anyone expect Jean touch Kiya. As a predator she was indeed intimidating, and Marco had been the first one to be careful around her, not wanting to upset the feline in any way, after he saw her long shining teeth for the first time. He cherished his limbs far too much to risk them being hurt. 

But now Kiya seemed used to him, her stance completely relaxed and inoffensive. However Marco was still careful, his hand hesitant when it reached out to gently stroke the animal's head. Kiya's reaction was rather enthusiast as she nuzzled closer into Marco's feather-like touch, even rewarding him with a low purr. Marco chuckled, the cheetah's reaction reminding him of her human master. 

“So you like your hair being pet uh?” He asked, stroking the cheetah's head with more conviction “Like master like pet.”

Kiya purred again, shifting to have Marco scratch behind her ear, making the slave smile.

“Hey, you know what you want don't you?” He commented with a small laugh. The rumble it created in his chest made Jean groan in disapproval. After a short fond glance to the still asleep prince who was using him as his personal pillow, Marco looked back to his pet.

“I'm screwed aren't I” He stated more than asked, more to himself than to Kiya “What am I gonna do with him?” He received a strange growl in response. “Your opinion doesn't count” He huffed, his hand leaving the feline's head “You're on his side, so you're not objective!”

Kiya let out a frustrated sniff as she walked away and Marco rubbed his now free hand against his face. He had just talked to a cheetah. And even though Jean always did it, and Kiya probably understood more than they thought anyway, it felt stupid and silly. But so far Marco's day wasn't looking intellectual anyway. Especially not with how Jean just hiked his leg up his waist.

Marco had to do something about the situation of uncomfortably comfortable closeness with the prince he was in. Especially when he was sure it was almost time for Jean and his father's ritual breakfast, and when he was almost sure he would get an erection if Jean continued wiggling against him like he did.

Marco tried to revive his numb arm, succeeding in getting his fingers to move after a few tries. As much as he wanted to wake Jean as quickly as possible, Marco didn't want to rush him, fearing it would put the prince into a terrible mood that he'll have to put up with for the rest of the day. So Marco started by running his hand over Jean's forehead, ruffling his hair in the process. 

“My prince” He gently sought Jean's groggy attention. He didn't dare use his first name, it suddenly felt too personal and domestic, and exactly what he didn't need right now.

Jean let out an incoherent grumble but didn't give any sign of waking up. However Marco didn't give up and came closer, whispering into Jean's ear a small “You have to wake up.” as he started gently shaking his shoulder.  
Jean swat Marco's hand away from him, keeping his eyes stubbornly closed even if it was clear that he was starting to wake up. Marco clicked his tongue at the aggressive gesture, he was starting to get mildly annoyed at Jean, and he also desperately wanted to get his arm back before it necrosed from the lack of blood in it.  
But Jean was determined to keep him captive of his sleepy death hold, hiking his leg higher up Marco's waist and throwing his arm over his slave's shoulders, hiding his face into freckled collarbones. Marco inhaled deeply before he sighed, annoyed but also difficultly holding back a chuckle. Groggy Jean was like a cuddly monkey. It didn't displease the freckled young man but he wasn't going to give up, he would get Jean out of bed at all cost!

“Jean” Marco whined, finally consenting to use the prince's first name. “Come on!”

Jean tried but failed to hide a smile and Marco frowned. He was obviously awake and fooling with him. 

“Jean, let me go.” Marco scolded. “You've got to get ready for breakfast with your father.”

The prince let out a small whine, followed by a grumbled “no”. And when Marco was about to scold him again for his childish attitude, Jean made the brunette's words catch in his throat. Indeed, the young slave wasn't prepared when he felt traitorous lips pepper fleeting kisses to his collarbones. The touch was faint, but still undeniably there. 

“I'd rather stay here with you” Jean whispered, now softly nuzzling the collarbones he just kissed, breathing in Marco's smell.

Marco felt himself blush from his chest to the tip of his ears. His weak heart couldn't possibly resist such sweet words. He must be dreaming, this couldn't be happening. He looked down, searching for Jean's gaze, to make out what expression he held when he said those words that made Marco's heart ache. But Jean's eyes were still closed, refusing to meet the sun of the new day.

Marco tried to persuade himself that Jean's sudden outbursts of cuddliness were caused by the sleep still dusting his eyes. He didn't want them to be proper conscious gestures; it would be too cruel.  
The slave knew that Jean was attracted to him physically, the prince had made it obvious from the first day they met, but that's not the kind of relationship he wanted, and it would be cruel of Jean to make him hope he could have what he really wanted. 

Reluctantly, Marco unwrapped Jean's limbs from his warm body. The prince struggled and groused as his slave freed his numb arm from under him and moved away, getting up from the bed. Jean tossed and turned on the bed as he tried to go back to sleep, tangling himself into the sheets. But it was vain, and Marco didn't even need to pull the sheets away, for Jean gave a defeated sigh and reluctantly got up. He couldn't possibly hope to find peace without the pale light of the moon and Marco's warmth to lull him to sleep.

“Okay, you win.” The prince sighed, stretching before heading to his mirror.

He inspected his face, frowning at the sight of smeared kohl under his eyes and coagulated blood on his cheek. “I look so bad” He groaned, setting on cleaning his face and applying all sorts of oils and creams on it. He then tried to apply his eye liner, but when he closed one of his eyes, the other refused to stay opened, still full of sleep.

“Marco” The prince whined, waving the kohl in front of him insistently.

Marco sighed but still took hold of the brush and carefully traced a line alongside Jean's eyelashes, gently holding his closed eyelid in place so it would be neat.  
When Jean opened his eyes, he quickly checked his slave's work, giving a satisfied grin to his reflection. “Much better!”

Marco couldn't agree; to him Jean always managed to look good, impossibly so. Make up or not. Wounded or not.

The young slave sighed again. He was definitely screwed.

\----------

Marco was never the kind to be oblivious to his own feelings. He was painfully aware of his growing fondness for Jean.  
But he was probably oblivious to lots of over things, and made the decision to distance himself from the prince.  
Of course it was difficult when he was supposed to spend his days by Jean's side. But Marco still managed to avoid the most critical situations.  
He sat farther away from Jean when they ate together, didn't share flatware or plates anymore. He also stopped complimenting Jean on his horse riding when he admired him galloping in the wind from farther away than necessary. He even took the habit to move away when Jean as much as brushed against him.

They didn't share Jean's bed again, Marco stubbornly taking refuge in the safety of his couch. It was far less comfortable than Jean's bed, but he refused to as much as sit on the edge of the bed, even when the expression deep in Jean's eyes begged for it.

He was probably being cruel too. 

He had noticed how this sudden change in his behaviour affected Jean too. The prince's mood had clearly dropped. He smiled far less often, began eating less again, and even his posture seemed slouched, making his usually proud gait look put out.  
It made Marco's heart sank each time he met confusion or incomprehension in Jean's unusually pale eyes.  
But the young slave kept repeating himself that it was for the best, for both of them. He even thought about making Jean dismiss him by pushing his limits, but he wasn't brave enough to do so. He hated to admit it, but Jean hating him would probably break his heart, and even if it would be a temporary suffering that could avoid both of them a longer and more painful one, in a much more insidious way, it was a step he wasn't ready to make. He was a coward and he knew it.

But it was for the best.

Marco kept trying to convince himself of it as he sat next to Bertholdt in the kitchen, fidgeting nervously, unable to calm his nerves.  
He chose not to wait for Jean in the corridor where the prince took his lessons, instead coming to check on his friend to occupy his conflicted mind. It came from a selfish need, but Marco was truly concerned for Bertholdt, and also for Reiner.

A little more than two weeks had passed since Reiner's “accident”, and the blond slave was slowly but surely getting better. After spending a week in bed, where Bertholdt, who had been exempted from work to take care of him, had tended to his every needs, making sure he stayed hydrated and ate enough, as well as treating his wounds regularly, Reiner was back to work, but in the kitchens. He wasn't ready for more arduous tasks yet, and Marco knew Bertholdt secretly hoped he would never be again, so he could keep working with him.  
Reiner's back was now covered in so much pale scar tissue that it was his natural skin that seemed out of tune. Marco noted the most recent scars were a little darker, still fresh and pinkish, not dried of their color by the blazing sun that Reiner was used to work under.  
The blond suddenly turned his head from the onions he was peeling and noticed Marco staring at him.

“I know you can't resist my charms Marco, but shouldn't you be tending to a certain prince's needs instead of admiring my amazing muscles?” Reiner asked playfully with a huge grin plastered on his face.  
Marco's head shot up at that, his cheeks blushing slightly. Bertholdt gently elbowed Reiner in the ribs, with a disapproving groan of the blond's name.

Marco felt guilty. Guilty because he was avoiding Jean and hurting him on purpose, and guilty because Reiner and Bertholdt knew it was the reason he was coming to the kitchens so often. It was selfish to use them like this, and it made Marco feel really bad.  
He bit his lower lip, almost drawing blood as he tried to hold back the tears stinging in his eyes. He felt so bad, maybe not as much as when he first arrived here, but differently. It was a kind of self inflicted hurt; a suffering he could put an end to anytime. However he still persisted in wounding himself, and Jean in the process, inexplicably.

A large hand came to rest on his head, ruffling his hair as gently as such a strong and rough appendage could.  
Marco turned his head to meet Reiner's friendly golden eyes. He stopped biting his lip and the hand on his head vanished while Reiner sighed.

“You know Marco, Bertl' and I, we've know Jean for quite long” He started, turning to Bertholdt for approval “Isn't that true Bertl'?” 

The taller slave hesitated before he nodded his head slowly, eying his lover skeptically, ready to elbow him again if his speech didn't please him.

“And we sure know how he is with people” Reiner added, looking back to Marco.

Marco didn't say anything, waiting for the blond to continue. He had no clue where he wanted to go with this conversation.

“Well let me tell you I never saw him look at someone the way he looks at you.” Reiner finally said, his golden stare serious, refusing to leave Marco's face.

Marco frowned and lowered his eyes. Now rthzt it was clearer, he didn't like where this was going. He didn't want to be fed with hopes and pretty words. He was too afraid of them being false, and probably even more afraid of them being true.  
Reiner's hand came to grip Marco's chin, and it wasn't a delicate gesture. The blond showed his colossal strenght, holding the freckled slave's head so he had no choice but to look him in the eyes, to listen to what he had to say.

“I wouldn't lie to you about stuff like this, trust me.”

Marco didn't doubt it. Reiner was never one for lies or even embellished stories; he was honest and sometimes even crude.

“When Jean looks at you, it's not hungry like the looks he used to send Eren” Reiner resumed “It's not awe-struck like when he first saw Mikasa dancing.” The hold on Marco's chin tightened as the blond neared the end of his sentence. “It's the look I gave Bertholdt when I asked him to marry me.”

Marco's eyes widened and his teeth returned to savaging his lips. He wanted to believe in those words, he truly did. But even if it was true that Jean felt that way about him, they could never officially be together so what was the point?

Quietly, without Marco noticing, Bertholdt had gotten up and gently pushed Reiner away from the younger slave. The strong hand on his jaw let place to thinner ones coming to rest on his shoulders. Bertholdt's deep green eyes were comforting and it was like Marco was suddenly draped into a warm soothing blanket.

“Marco let give you a friendly advice.” The lankier slave started, his voice soft, for he didn't want to upset Marco, who was already close to tears. “Let's face it, you're probably going to be here for a long time.” Marco nodded, it was the bitter truth. “So my question is as follows: would you prefer spending that time hurting yourself and Jean for the sake of avoiding _possibly_ getting hurt even more, or would you rather let things evolve from day to day and enjoy the good times that will come amongst the least good ones?”

Tears started pouring down Marco's cheeks and he quickly hid his face into Bertholdt's shoulder, his hands gripping his friend's back for support.  
Bertholdt hummed and started soothingly stroking his younger friend's back.

“It's gonna be alright Marco. I know not being in control is scary, and so are feelings.” He whispered “But you can't fight against a future you don't know about, or else you'll just exhaust yourself.” He stopped his stroking to give his shoulder a few soft pats. “I know it's hard, but try not to think about what could happen, and make the best of the present.”

Marco nodded against Bertholdt's chest, but it took a few minutes of caring whispers and gentle touches for his tears to dry on his cheeks.  
Exhausted, the brunette moved back from his hiding place. Behind Bertholdt, he spotted Reiner's smile, mirroring his lover's sympathetic expression.

“Thank you guys, you're the best friends I could hope for.” Marco muttered, his eyes still watery and nose reddened and runny.

Reiner chuckled and Bertholdt gave one last pat to Marco's shoulder.

“You're gonna be okay, just try not to cogitate too much, okay?” Bertholdt said, encouraging. “That's something you and Jean probably have in common” He then commented with a broad smile.

Marco blushed slightly but nodded his head again. He would try to follow Bertholdt's advice. Up to this point, the most pleasant memories he had of Egypt were times spent with Jean (the worst were partially too but there weren't as many, and their intensity wasn't comparable), so he should continue to enjoy those precious times, instead of ruining them in fear of an uncertain future. 

“And if Jean hurts you, he'll have to deal with Bertl' and I! We have no mercy for people who hurt friends, princes or not!” Reiner's booming voice exclaimed, owning himself another elbow to the ribs and finally getting a small laugh out of Marco's tired body. 

A few minutes later, after a lighter conversation and stupid jokes coming from Reiner, it is with a genuine smile lingering on his lips for the first time in days that Marco left the kitchens, his steps determined as he walked in direction of the prince's room.

\----------

Marco's confidence was short lived and it was shyly, and after making sure he properly knocked, that he opened the door to Jean's room, sliding in as quietly as possible.  
The prince still noticed him, turning to look at him shortly before going back to what he was doing, which was namely fixing his hair and make up.  
Marco had almost forgotten that there was a party planned for that evening. He wondered how long Jean had been back from his afternoon lessons, but didn't dare ask.  
Jean seemed like he didn't want to talk to his slave anyway. He kept stealing little glances at Marco but without saying a word, sometimes opening his mouth slightly before closing it in resignation.  
Marco silently moved to sit on the couch that was his bed. The atmosphere felt awkward and heavy, and he knew it was more than partially his fault. Yet he didn't really know what to do about it.  
He thought back to Bertholdt's words and as he saw Jean struggling with his eye-liner that he was trying to refresh, he decided that acting natural, letting his instinct guide him, was probably the best option.

He got up, and moved closer to the prince, gently taking the ink pencil from his trembling hands.

“Let me” He simply whispered when Jean opened his mouth to protest.

The prince accepted his helps and closed his eyes, completely trusting his slave as Marco took hold of his chin to hold him in place while he worked on contouring his eyes.

When he was done, Marco put down the pencil and leaned against the small table where all of Jean's make up and oils stood. The prince opened his eyes, and he didn't bother to check the result of his slave's work in the mirror, instead directly turning to Marco, staring at him with eyes full of confusion  
Of course he would be confused. Marco distanced himself from him, and now he was willingly helping him get ready, without even being asked to. The young slave understood how Jean must feel, but he didn't know how he could tell him he was done running away from his feelings and as a consequence, from him.

“Do you want me to help you with something else?” Marco asked softly.

That offer was the only way he found to apologize, and to try to start things anew. Jean's tawny eyes widened before they looked away. He nodded in agreement and the small smile on his lips as well as the touch of color suddenly warming his cheeks convinced Marco that his message kind of went through..

\----------

It turned out that helping Jean get ready for a party was a total uproar. The bedroom looked like a battle-field, with clothes made of expensive fabrics littering the floor, and empty bottles all knocked over on the table.

The prince was now undressed completely, and Marco was glad he had good reflexes that made him turn around quickly enough to avoid getting too much flustered at the sight of Jean's naked figure.  
When the slave heard bottles clanging, he dared sending a quick look over his shoulder. He found Jean bent down, trying to reach a small brown flask on the floor. The prince's back was arched really nicely, and Marco couldn't help but notice that he had a really nice bottom. He couldn't avert his eyes when Jean started covering his whole body with the divinely smelling oil coming from the flask. He was mesmerized by the sight of Jean's hands traveling down his shoulders, then his arms, and finally down his legs, even moving in between them... Marco's breath caught in his throat. The oil made Jean's skin look soft and shiny, and its dizzying scent filled the air of the room, making his head spin.  
When Jean turned to him, he had to force his eyes to stay on the prince's face. 

“Marco, can you oil my back?” He casually asked.

Marco couldn't believe how unchaste Jean was. He didn't seem to be bothered _at all_ by the fact that he was standing naked in front of his slave. Hesitantly, Marco walked towards him, eyes locked onto his back as he took the flask offered to him.  
He poured some oil onto his hands and made quick work of coating the prince's back. He didn't let his fingers linger unnecessary on Jean's skin. It wasn't a massage after all, and he didn't want the prince to notice how his hands were shaking with embarrassment. He then quickly moved away to busy himself with putting the flask away. Jean's eyes were on him as he did so, and the young slave thought he spotted a bit of disappointment in them, but it was probably his imagination.

Jean turned to inspect a pile of clothes on his bed, taking his sweet time to choose between two Shendyts that looked almost the same to Marco. He finally made his choice and to Marco's relief put it on, ending his slave's inner fight to avoid looking down the prince body.  
Marco let out a worn out sigh while Jean continued rummaging through his stuff. By the gods, it seemed like Jean wasn't going to put on any underwear. 

“Which one do you think is the best?” The prince asked, holding out two golden bracelets in front of him.

Marco was taken aback. It was strange, but also quite flattering that the prince sought his opinion to choose his jewelry. The young slave carefully inspected both golden bracelets. One was very large, with a blue sapphire scarab keyed in it, while the other was more discrete, thinner, and with dark blue hieroglyphs painted on it.

“What does this one say?” Marco asked, pointing to the second bracelet curiously.

Jean looked down onto the bracelet, eyes wide, surprised by the sudden question. 

“It says _'the nut doesn't reveal the tree it contains_ '” He answered, seemingly a bit embarrassed while putting the bracelet on. “It's an old Egyptian saying.”

Marco found that saying very true and wise. Nothing he expected to see on such a fancy bracelet.

“It's a bit unusual to find these kind of things written on jewelry” He commented, impressed, even if he wasn't an expert in these kind of things.

“My mother had it made for me.” Jean said, eying the bracelet fondly. “To help me remember that appearances are not everything.” He then nervously rubbed the back of his head. “But I guess it's a bit dumb to put that kind of message on something as superficial as a bracelet...”

“It's not!” Marco interrupted, surprised at how categorical his own voice sounded. “It's not” He repeated, softer this time. “I think your mother had very good taste in sayings... and in jewelry.”

The look Jean gave him then was heartbreaking. It was such a painful mix of surprise, nostalgia and bafflement. Jean looked almost skeptical, like he wasn't sure he could believe his slave's kind words.  
He was probably thinking back to his mother. The parties must remind him of her, for he obviously used to attend them with her, and she was probably the one who helped him get ready at that time.  
But now she was gone, and Jean must feel so alone with just that bracelet as a modest souvenir of her voice, her words, her touches.  
It made Marco want to close the distance between them and hug Jean. Hold him so close, draping him in his touch so tight that he wouldn't physically be able to feel lonely again.  
Then he'd whisper to him that he was going to be the most beautiful tree to ever get out of a nut while stroking his oh so soft hair and...

He didn't do it. It wasn't his place, it wasn't his role. He was the prince's slave, and he shouldn't think about taking selfish initiatives like this.

“Are you going to wear a necklace too?” He asked instead, trying to distract the prince, to wipe away that desperate expression from his beautiful face.

Jean looked up, life and focus coming back to his blinking eyes. “Oh, yeah...” He weakly answered, busying himself with rummaging through his jewelry collection again.

Marco shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other while Jean continued his researches. The young slave wanted to do more for the prince. With his distracting question, he hadn't completely succeeded in getting rid of the frown sticking on Jean's face. But most of his comforting ideas felt off limits and he was afraid Jean wouldn't accept them.

The prince finally found a suitable necklace, and Marco helped him put it on. It was huge, golden of course, and keyed with sapphires and lapis lazuli, calming and regal colors that suited Jean, but contrasted with his often hot temper.  
Marco was surprised when after he had securely tied the necklace behind Jean's neck, the prince turned back and caught his wrist. He tensed when Jean's warm palm let place to something cold encircling his wrist. He dared a look down and found that the prince just fastened the large scarab bracelet around his forearm. Before Marco could protest that he wasn't worthy of such beautiful object, Jean silenced him with a raised hand.

“I'm the prince, and even my personal slave should look his best for the party. What master would I be if I let myself be seen alongside a dirty and ragged slave?” He asked, not looking Marco in the eyes as he reached out for powder and the eye-liner brush. “Besides, that bracelets of yours matches my necklace, so everyone will know you're with me.” 

That sudden generosity, even if possibly motivated by a slight possessiveness, made Marco happy. The bracelet was truly beautiful, and it was the first present Jean (or anyone in Egypt) ever gave him. Behind his words, Marco decrypted that the prince didn't mind being associated with him, he even seemed proud to have him as as slave, and it made the him feel special.  
He looked down to the bracelet, smiling as he angled his wrist so he could get a better look at it.

“Now don't move! We have work to do to make your face presentable.” Jean ordered with a flurry of his brush, forcing Marco to reluctantly stop admiring the symbol of revival that was the blue scarab on his arm.

\----------

When Marco met his reflection in the mirror, he thought that he definitely didn't look like a slave.

Jean drew a thicker kohl line than Marco usually did, also making it a little bit longer and curlier at the corner of his eyes. It made the young slave's eyes look bigger and deeper and he almost felt like he was staring into someone else's eyes.  
He looked at himself from every angle, a sudden rush of vanity overthrowing him. He was kind of satisfied with what he saw. And Jean seemed satisfied with his work too, given how he couldn't stop grinning.

“Ah, almost forgot!” Jean exclaimed before fetching a handful of small round black berries and presenting them to his slave.

“What are those?” Marco asked curiously. He had never seen such fruits, but despite their shiny skin and color, he doubted they were comestible.

“It's belladonna” Jean answered with a smile. “It's also called 'deadly nightshade'. It makes your pupils dilate and your eyes shiny.” He explained, mimicking a widened circle with his fingers before crushing one of the berries in his hand. “'Belladonna' means beautiful lady by the way.”

Marco nodded, carefully listening to Jean's explanations. He smiled to himself, the prince was really cultured, and he was pretty sure Jean enjoyed sharing his knowledge with him.  
Jean leaned closer to Marco, cupping his cheek with one hand, the proximity of his face and the warmth of his touch making his slave blush.

“Don't move.” He asked for the second time of the evening. “You don't want me putting too much of it in your eye, or else you won't be able to see a thing during the whole evening!” He warned.

Marco tensed and stopped moving, even forgetting to breath in his concentration. He didn't want to end up blind for aesthetic purposes. Especially not when it meant being unable to admire Jean's particularly handsome figure for the rest of the night.  
Very carefully, the prince smeared a small amount of berry juice onto his slave's waterline. At first it stung a little, but the burn didn't last long. Marco blinked a few time; the light of the room felt a lot more aggressive now that his pupils had grown twice their size.

The brunette then turned to Jean who was applying the berry puree onto his own eyes. When Marco met the prince's eyes, they were truly mesmerizing. His dark pupils were blown, circled with only a thin line of intense tawny iris. The gaze it gave him was so intense that Marco looked away, his whole body suddenly feeling really warm. 

After putting on some rather small blue and golden earrings, Jean declared that he was ready. 

“What do you think?” He asked with a proud grin, slowly spinning around so Marco could take in his outfit in totality.

Marco gulped. Jean looked positively ravishing.

\----------

When the prince made his grand arrival, the party was already in full swing. The music was loud, the dancers sweaty and the wine flowed freely. Marco noticed a while ago that Jean didn't like to appear before festivities were well into the night. He liked to interrupt everyone's activities, to have them stop what they were doing and turn to look at him, all eyes falling on him. He wanted to be noticed, he wanted to make an entrance.

However, Marco was shyer, and liked to be more discrete. So when he entered the huge party hall, alongside Jean and an effortlessly trotting Kiya, he suddenly felt very uneasy with all those eyes focused in their direction. As they moved further, splitting the crowd of bowing nobles, the young slave wished he was invisible, or very very small. He kept his eyes downcast and tried to keep his breathing even, grinning and bearing it until they reached Jean's personal reserved space.

Jean finally sat down on his comfortable chair, and Marco had a sudden flash of another evening months ago, where the prince had sat with his legs crossed, just like he did right now, and with Kiya comfortably lying at his feet like she just did back then.  
The young slave felt sweat trickle down his back; those weren't particularly pleasant memories. But things were different now; Kiya wasn't going to growl at him and he wouldn't end up in a fountain. Hopefully.

Marco stood beside Jean's chair, standing still while an army of slaves started fanning the prince with huge palm tree leaves while others offered him a large choice of food and drinks.  
Jean ended up with a glass of wine in one hand and a handful of dates in his mouth. He let out a content sigh as he leaned back against the back of his chair, relishing in the cool feeling of air on his face.  
When the young brunette slave holding the date plate presented it again to the prince, Jean stopped her with a raised opened palm.

“Give that to Marco here.” He said, gesturing to his slave. “He'll take care of it.”

Marco's eyes widened and before he knew it, he was entrusted with the silver plate of dates ad the young slave had disappeared.  
To Marco's surprise, Jean then proceeded to dismiss all the other slaves gravitating around him.  
Tawny eyes met brown ones and suddenly, Marco's attention was completely focused on Jean, and he forgot that he was in the middle of a party.

“Better!” Jean commented as he stretched lazily. “Now it's just you and me.” He then murmured, his eyes burning.

Marco felt heat rise to his cheeks when Jean slowly opened his mouth after letting out a breathy “Feed me”, his blown pupils not leaving his slave's face.

A shiver ran down Marco's spine, and it wasn't unpleasant. But he did as he was asked, his fingers trembling slightly when he struggled to catch one of the fruits between them. Jean kept his eyes fixed on Marco when he closed his lips around his slave's fingers, lingering on them in a way that could be very suggestive.  
Marco's breath hitched in his throat, but he didn't move back. And in a second, the moment was gone, Jean's gaze releasing him as the prince turned away to chew on his date with a humming sound.  
Jean was opening his mouth again for Marco to feed him when they were interrupted by a the soft sound of someone politely clearing his throat.

In front of Jean, two girls had appeared. The first one had such fair skin that Marco assumed she wasn't Egyptian, and probably more of Roman origin. She was ridiculously short but still extremly elegant. Her long blond hair was adorned with pearls and gems of all sort that framed her pretty face perfectly. Her long beige gown was enhanced by light blue crystals that matched her sparkling blue eyes. She was really beautiful and every one of her gestures were refined.  
The girl beside her looked far less regal and was probably the blond lady's companion; or more like body guard given her lean and muscular build. She was tall, with dark skin and impossibly darker freckles, just like the ones Marco wore on his cheeks, and she was dressed in a much simpler green tunic.

“Historia?!” Jean exclaimed, his eyes brightening with pleased surprise. “You're back from your trip to Sparta?”

Historia smiled brightly and graciously nodded her head. 

“Why wasn't I informed of it?!” Jean asked, starting to look around, probably looking for a random slave to put his annoyance out on.

“I'm actually the one to blame.” Historia confessed with a small chuckle. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Jean's annoyance seemed to be appeased by that answer, but the look he still gave around the room suggested that surprises weren't really his thing. Strangely, that didn't surprise Marco.

Jean politely asked how Historia's trip went and she launched into describing said trip in great details. But unexpectedly, Jean listened to her carefully, not giving any sign of boredom. About halfway through the petite blonde's narrative, her companion started to fidget on her spot, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Marco found Historia's story very interesting (and he wished one day he could have the chance to see the beautiful Sparta with his own eyes), but his legs were also growing tired of his immobile standing position. Maybe the freckled woman noticed it, because soon Marco was trapped in her iron grip, her arm secured around his shoulder as she inexplicably started dragging him away.

“Ymir, what are you doing?!” Historia asked, alarmed as Jean stood up from his chair.

“Just getting some drinks with my fellow freckled comrade!” Ymir answered with a grin, her grip on Marco tightening impossibly, almost choking him. 

“Be careful with Marco! I warn you, I-I want him back in one piece, or else, or else-” Jean threatened weakly, his hands grasping the empty air as if trying to get back his slave, Historia completely forgotten at his side.

“Don't worry _my prince_ ” Ymir replied mockingly “I'm not gonna break him.”

When Ymir finally released Marco from her death grip, they were at the opposite side of the large room. She sat down in front of the buffet and took a large swing of wine directly from the jug while Marco sat too and gently rubbed his sore neck after he put down the silver plate of dates.

“You're new.” Ymir stated more than asked when she was done emptying the jug of wine.

“Y-yes” Marco answered shyly. He didn't know what this woman wanted with him and he had to admit she was kind of intimidating him.

“Marco was it?” Marco nodded and she continued “So you're Jean's new plaything? I guess he had good taste this time, tall, dark skinned, freckled, that's the description of perfection!” 

She winked but this time Marco didn't nod. It wasn't the fact that Ymir was currently patting herself on the back, but more the first part of her sentence that bothered him. He was about to retort that “no he wasn't Jean's plaything”, but he was interrupted by the arrival of two familiar figures. 

“Ymir! I didn't know you were back!” Reiner exclaimed while he clapped her on the shoulder. But unlike Marco usually did, Ymir didn't wince at the power of the blow.

“Glad you're back Ymir.” Bertholdt said, his calming presence appeasing Marco's nerves. Ymir answered him with a wave of the hand before she set onto starting what looked like a friendly fight with Reiner (if trying to choke someone could be called friendly...).

Bertholdt sighed and sat beside Marco, smiling at the young slave's puzzled expression. 

“I see you met Ymir and Historia.” Bertholdt said, sparing a quick glance to the other side of the room where Jean and Historia were still talking.

Marco nodded and he didn't need to ask any question for Bertholdt to satisfy his curiosity. The taller slave informed him that Historia was the daughter of a rich Roman merchant and a courtesan from a very old and wealthy Egyptian family. Bertholdt didn't inform him of the details but somehow, after a particular event, that was without a doubt grave, Ymir devoted her life to serving Historia, and she never left her side since then. Bertholdt also told Marco that Jean had grown up with Historia and that she was one of the rare nobles he tolerated. Marco didn't really know Historia, but she seemed like the kind of person one couldn't hate. He voice that opinion to Bertholdt who agreed, chuckling a bit as he remembered a small anecdote.

“I remember Pharaoh once mentioned that if Jean were to marry someday, he'd be happy to have Historia as a daughter in law.” 

Marco's eyes widened at that, but he understood Pharaoh's thought. Historia was from a noble lineage and when he had seen her talk with Jean earlier, it was true that they seemed to get along well.  
But for a reason he understood too well to his liking, that new piece of information made Marco's heart clench with an unhealthy jealousy that he couldn't put under control even if he tried. He almost wished Bertholdt had kept his mouth shut.

“But I don't think it's for her that Jean has eyes tonight.” Bertholdt commented with a barely contained smile.

Marco followed his friend's gaze to the other side of the room and he was surprised to meet tawny eyes watching him. Jean quickly looked away when he realized that Marco caught him staring, nervously taking a sip of his wine and asking for a refill to a slave that had appeared by his side in the mean time.

“He's been stealing glances your way every two seconds for a while now.” Bertholdt chuckled, almost excitedly. “I doubt he's listening to poor Historia's story at this point.” And as if to prove Bertholdt's point, Jean gave another glance in Marco's direction, his eyes this time lingering on his slave a bit longer.

Marco's jealousy flew away as quick as it appeared, and a warm feeling filled his whole body at the thought that Jean could be worried or even longing for him. Of course it wasn't the first time the prince showed protectiveness or possessiveness towards his slave, but Marco felt like he could get drunk on that feeling of being needed, of being desired. He never expected to feel like this, but he wanted more of Jean's attention, and he wished the prince would only look at him, even though he knew it was an unhealthy thought. It seemed they were actually both pretty selfish when it came to each other. 

“I can't believe Jean keeps ignoring my beautiful Historia!”

Ymir had materialized back by Marco's side, alongside a tired looking Reiner. The bedlam with Ymir had probably been a bit too much, his recovery was still incomplete after all.

“Everyhting alright?” Marco asked the muscular blonde.

Reiner gave him a surprised look but it quickly turned into a thankful smile that Marco mirrored. Reiner tried to drink out of the jug Ymir had emptied, giving a disappointed look to it when he realized it was empty. So he fetched another one, and drank directly from it just like Ymir did.

“Reiner!” Bertholdt scolded with a mortified face when he saw what his lover was doing. “Don't do that, we're not supposed to drink. If someone sees you we could be in big trouble.”

Bertholdt looked around nervously as Reiner put down the jug, pouting. “That's so unfair, why can't I taste the wine and Ymir can?”

“Because Ymir is under Historia's protection. I know it's unfair, but we don't have this chance.” Bertholdt said with a tired sigh. “Besides, I don't want to have to drag your drunken corpse to bed.”

Reiner smirked and Bertholdt instantly regretted his words “Too bad, I love it when you drag me to bed.” The blond said, wiggling his eyebrows to make his husband blush. “And if someone ends up having to take care of a drunk tonight it think it will probably be Marco.”

Marco's head shot up at the mention of his name. He sent Reiner a questionning look and the large blond tilted his chin in direction of the prince. “Jean keeps emptying his glass faster than lightning. At this rate he'll probably reach his limit soon.”

As if to prove Reiner's point, in the distance, Jean clumsily spilled half of his drink on his chest before he let his glass fall, his movements clearly rendered inaccurate by the alcohol.

“Look at him, such a light weight.” Reiner chuckled before taking another sip of wine, despite Bertholdt's disapproving glare.

Marco kept his eyes on Jean. He was a bit worried, and he felt the urge to go back to the prince's side. But in the end it was Jean who came to him.  
The prince got up with difficulty, after he had dismissed the poor slave cleaning his torso, and Historia had to help him so he wouldn't trip over his own feet. Kiya followed them as they got closer to the slave group, but she kept careful distances with her master, obviously not wanting to be stepped on.  
Bertholdt shook his head desperately when he saw Jean's staggering walk.

“It's a good thing Pharaoh's not here to see that.” He commented.

Marco checked the room by reflex, and indeed, Pharaoh was absent. He didn't even notice it. Maybe the sovereign was tired of those social gatherings...

“Ouff”

His wondering was interrupted by a sudden weight on his thighs. It turned out Jean had decided that he wanted to sit on Marco's laps, and so had jumped on his poor slave, shifting to find a comfortable position as he sat sideways, his bony bottom making Marco wince.  
But more than discomfort, Marco felt a rush of embarrassment fill his whole body, his face turning crimson from the realization of the position he was in. And Reiner and Ymir's sniggering didn't help _at all_.

“M-my prince, what are you doing?!” Marco squeaked, his voice so high it was barely recognizable.

“Sitting.” Was Jean's slurred answer. “You're comfortable.”

Marco rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. This was probably going to be a very long night. He started when Jean encircled his neck with his slender arms, causing their chests to touch, the gesture making Marco inhale sharply.

“Jean I'm not sure Marco- Is that it?-” Historia came to Marco's rescue with a gentle voice and an even gentler smile. The slave nodded and she continued. “I'm not sure Marco appreciates you sitting on him. Don't you think you should sit properly?”  
She was talking to Jean like one would to a child, but it didn't upset Marco because at that moment she was like an angel trying to save him from a certain death by overheating.

Unfocused tawny eyes searched Marco's brown ones, a hint of sorrow in them. “You don't want me to sit on you?”

From so close, Marco could smell the alcohol in Jean's breath. He definitely had too much to drink, and Marco should probably scold him for that. But how could he say no to those eyes and that pleading voice.

“I don't mind.” He breathed and it was only half a lie. One of his hands hesitantly made its way to Jean's waist, holding him there securely so he wouldn't slip from his laps and fall.

“Now you're screwed friend, he won't let you go anymore.” Ymir snorted mockingly while giving Marco a hard smack on the shoulder “The boy gets all clingy when he's drunk.”

Marco didn't get a chance to reply, for as soon as he got his breath back from Ymir's blow, Jean was gesticulating, trying to kick Ymir while hissing at her to “not hurt his Marco.”

“Ymir leave them be.” Historia gently reprimanded, and the reckless Ymir instantly stopped. Marco sighed. Saved by angel Historia again.  
However even with the blond girl's help, he didn't have time to ponder too much about how Jean called him “his”, for the prince, after sending one last dark glare to Ymir, started poking Marco's shoulders with his forefinger.

“You'got so many freckles” Jean said, his poking soon turning into a gentler touch, making Marco's skin warmer “Like the stars. I'd need an abacus to count them.”

Marco blushed. The analogy was beautiful. He chuckled away his embarrassment at Jean's comment, but it quickly died in his throat when Jean inched closer, closing his eyes and resting his head against his slave's shoulder.  
Marco felt so dizzy that when Jean inhaled deeply against his skin, he feared he might faint.

“You smell good” Jean breathed, relaxed in his arms.

Marco's free hand kept clenching and unclenching nervously by his side, divided between staying still and moving to Jean's shoulder, to hug him closer.

“Y-you smell good too” He blurted out without thinking, too absorbed in the flowery smell emanating from Jean's hair. 

Jean grinned “It's because I wear perfume.”

Marco chuckled again. Jean turned out to be a cute drunk. Clingy indeed, but cute.  
The young slave finally allowed his hand to rest on Jean's shoulder, pressing the prince closer against him and burying his face into his ashen-blond hair. In sync, they both sighed contently.

But when Jean could enjoy the moment without any second thought, thanks to the alcohol in his body, Marco couldn't ignore the buzzing noises of the party that started reaching his ears again. With Jean suddenly silent, the young slave realized that he was indeed still in the large hall of the palace, amongst hundreds of guest who, even thought they were currently distracted by the music and food, could find them in this position anytime. It was really a good thing that Pharaoh wasn't here to witness that.

When Marco's head shot up, he found the sneaky eyes of Reiner and Ymir, as well as the tender gazes of Bertholdt and Historia focused on them. If he didn't feel faint before, he did now. Cold sweat ran down his back with the embarrassment of his current public display of affection.  
He opened his mouth, but quickly close it. The crew in front of him bore such knowing faces that it was no use trying to make excuses. Even Historia and Ymir who didn't know anything about him seemed to understand the things he knew but still didn't completely accept.  
Marco looked down, blushing even more if possible before sighing deeply.

“I should put him to bed” He sounded like a mother talking about her child. And he probably looked like one, with Jean gradually dozing off into his arms.

“Probably” Historia agreed with a comprehensive smile.

“I think he's had enough for tonight.” Bertholdt agreed.

Marco nodded, the hand on Jean's shoulder moving to his cheek, gently poking him so he would open his eyes.

“Jean, let's get back to your room.”

Jean's eyes shot open, gazing up to Marco, full of hope.

“You've finally succumbed to my charms uh?” He slurred with a wink, and it would be really attractive if he wasn't giggling drunkenly at the same time. Now it was just plainly adorable.

Marco rolled his eyes. “Come on, you have to get up.” He urged, patting Jean's thigh, purposely avoiding to answer the previous question.  
The prince gave a reluctant whine but still obeyed, getting on his feet with difficulty, gripping Marco's arm for support.  
The young slave's hand came back to rest on Jean's waist, helping him move forward.

“Wait!” 

Marco stopped at Jean's sudden shout. He feared the prince might be feeling sick or might have hurt himself.  
But it turned out Jean just wanted to catch a date before they left. He contorted himself and gave a triumphant little noise when he succeeded in putting one into his mouth. What Marco didn't expect was to be presented with one date too.

“One for you too!” Jean smiled joyfully (or mostly drunkenly), seeming very proud of himself for sharing his sweet treats with his slave.

Marco accepted to be fed by Jean, quickly catching the fruit between his lips. His ears burned from the massive blush spreading on his face. Reiner and Ymir sniggered while Historia and Bertholdt cooed, and Marco tried his best to ignore them. But Jean seemed satisfied and started walking with a hazy smile, leaning most of his weight on his slave.  
Marco politely bid good night to Historia and his fellow slaves and called out Kiya who started following them lazily. 

Jean was leaning heavily against him, and he often ended up stepping on his feet. But Marco ignored the pain and forgave the poor drunk prince. They were moving on very slowly, but they still finally managed to reach the exit doors. But Marco couldn't possibly open the massive golden doors while supporting Jean.  
That detail ended up not being a problem for too long, as the doors opened. Marco's face brightened and he was getting ready to thank whoever put down the obstacle in front of him. However when he saw who stood behind the door, his blood turned cold.  
Priest Nick was looking down on him, his grey eyes judging and merciless. 

“What is happening here?”

Marco tried his best to hold the severe gaze of the priest, courageously answering, for the prince was in no state to do so.

“The prince is not feeling well Sir, I'm escorting him back to his chambers.”

Nick frowned, shooting a disapproving glance to Jean who kept his eyes downcast.

“To think your Highness would take advantage of your father's absence to drink until sick.” The priest sighed “How do you want him to trust you after this kind of irresponsible behaviour.”

Nick's tone wasn't angry, it was worse, it was contemptuous. It was cruel to scold Jean like this when he must already be feeling extremely bad and insecure about his father's opinion on him. The prince was still young, and he didn't deserve to be treated like this. Marco's blood started boiling in his veins when the priest insisted, continuing to spit his toxic words at Jean. The more he talked to Jean, the more the prince drew back on himself, hiding his face in Marco's shoulder, his grip on his arm getting impossibly tight.

“Sir!” Marco interrupted bravely, his voice still trembling and hesitant. “Excuse us but I think we should go now” He blurted, almost pushing aside the priest as he guided Jean through the doors. 

The doors slammed shut behind them and the sudden silence caused Marco's ears to ring. He let out a tired sighed and turned his head to Jean, checking on him. 

“Are you alright?” He whispered, worried that the prince kept hiding his face from him.

Jean shook his head. Obviously he wasn't. His shoulders started shaking and Marco felt his skin getting wet where Jean's face was pressed against him.

“Oh no no no” He alarmingly said, grabbing Jean by both shoulders so he could see his face.

Tears were pouring down his cheeks and he had to sniff because of his runny nose. The sight made Marco feel like a wicked hand was holding his heart in a vice-grip, squeezing it hard enough to bleed.

“Oh Jean. Don't listen to him.” He gently murmured, his hands moving to the prince's cheeks.

“I'm just a- a good for no-nothing” He stuttered between sobs, bottom lip quivering. “I'm not worthy of being a prince.”

The anger Marco felt towards Priest Nick for putting Jean in such a state almost equaled the compassion flooding his veins.

“No you're not. You've got so many good things in you” He denied, stroking the prince's cheeks reassuringly. “You're strong, you're smart, you're witty and you're even good with animals...”

Not so surprisingly, Marco found it easy to list every one of Jean's qualities. 

“But I make so many m-mistakes” Jean whined, a violent sob simultaneously racking his whole body.

“We all do.” His slave quickly replied. “It's part of growing up.” He added, taking Jean's wrist in one of his hands to have the prince look at the bracelet he was wearing; the gift from his mother. “I'm sure when you will get out of your nut, you'll become the most beautiful tree.”

Jean's expression softened but tears kept escaping his eyes in an abundant flood. “You really think so?” He asked weakly, looking so distressed Marco's heart clenched in his chest.

The young slave gave a small nod, accompanied by a soothing caress of his fingers on the inside of his wrist, and it was enough. Enough to have Jean trying to blink away his tears, using his hands to help him, the intense rubbing ruining all his make up in the process.

But he was beautiful when he graced his slave with a weak but genuine smile.

“Let's go to bed.”

Jean nodded. “I'm tired” He stated the obvious. The side effects of the alcohol were probably hitting him hard right now, the giddiness letting place to exhaustion which had left him bare, defenseless against the priest words.

Jean's tired legs were trembling under his weight, almost giving up when he tried to take a step. Leaning on his slave wasn't enough anymore for him to be able to walk so Marco decided to bend down, grab Jean's legs under the knees and sweep him off his feet, carrying him in his arms.  
Jean let out a surprised breath but he quickly adjusted, nestling himself against his slave's chest, his firsts clenched into tight little balls.  
After checking that Jean was comfortably settled, Marco moved forward, his pace slow to avoid making Jean sicker than he probably was already. The corridors seemed longer than usual in the silence of the night, only faintly disturbed by Kiya's quiet walk.

“You-” Jean started hesitantly when they neared his room, his voice barely a whisper. “You'll sleep with me?”

He was so frail and so light in Marco's arms, and despite his outfit, he looked nothing like the proud and dashing prince he had helped getting dressed. But it was also Jean, sensitive and raw and insecure; one of the numerous sides that composed the gem that he was. And Marco loved it like all the others, even if their shape wasn't perfect, even with their impurities and flaws.  
It would have taken Jean drunk and almost crying in his arms to Marco to finally let his brains use the strong 'l' word to describe what he was feeling. The realization was a relief, but mixed with a hint of anxiety; and it was so intense that it almost made him cry.

“Of course” He breathed, lowering his head to tenderly press his lips against the prince's forehead.

Jean's blush was hard to spot under only the moon's light. But it was delightful so much it was genuine and innocent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ymir and Historia finally make an entrance! Hope you liked it ^^  
> Jean is a cuddly drunk (and he gets sad if he really really drinks too much)
> 
> Egyptian Fact of the Day: Cleopatra used Belladonna to make her pupils wider and her eyes more beautiful. I had to put that plant in there, it's my scientific side talking. The problem is that the repeated use of its berries makes you blind... (no worries, Jean won't end up blind)  
> Also, the egyptian saying I used is a real one, I didn't invent it.
> 
> Someone in the comments mentionned something about wanting a kiss on the cheek. Well I hope you're satisfied with a kiss on the forehead! (I wanted to include a kiss in this chapter and at first it was supposed to be on the lips, but I love kisses on the forehead and I think in the end it works better)
> 
> Next time, Jean's hangover! XD


	10. Chasing after Bastet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been almost a month but finally, the chapter is here. This time it's not 10k though, sorry... But I hope it will still be good.  
> We went over 3000 hits, that's so great, and almost 60 comments!!! really thanks to everyone who commented, left kudos, bookmarked or even read without doing so, it means so much to me.
> 
> If you want to see fanarts, [nianator](http://nianator.tumblr.com) made reaaaally nice sketches of [Marco and Bertholdt](http://nianator.tumblr.com/post/117779136112/ok-so-i-should-be-posting-everything-together-and) , and also of [ Jean](http://nianator.tumblr.com/post/117695268347/ah-a-sketchy-sketch-of-jean-from-the-new-update-of). They are really good.^^
> 
> Enjoy!

The following morning, predictably, Jean was suffering the consequences of his excessive drinking. He was sick. Very sick.  
Upon waking up next to him, Marco avoided in extremis being thrown up on. He was quick enough to get out of the bed and get Jean an empty bucket before the prince emptied the meagre content of his stomach with a nasty retching sound.  
After he helped Jean clean his face with a wet cloth, Marco slipped out of the room (not without having to convince the prince that he would come back very soon) to gather more supplies to face Jean's hang-over. He had already seen the effects of alcohol on some of his father's friends back when he was a kid, and he knew, by the looks of Jean's state, that if nothing was done, he could spend the entire day heaving his guts like he just did. 

Marco came back as quickly as possible, afraid Jean would hurt himself in his delirium, his silhouette like a draught in the kitchens and the slave quarters. And it is armed with handfuls of clean cloths and a few medicinal herbs that he went back to his prince's room. He found Jean on the bed, lying on his back, one arm flung over his eyes to protect them from the pale light of the morning, and a hand over his mouth, trying in vain to contain the waves of nausea attacking him. He was sweating profusely, clear droplets rolling down his forehead and the sheets under him completely soaked.  
Marco put down his supplies. A hang-over wouldn't kill Jean but the young slave still felt bad for him, and he was determined to do his best to make this experience a little more bearable for him. First, he had to rehydrate him; to compensate all the water he sweated away. 

Taking a jug of fresh water he had filled earlier, Marco sat down on the bed. Jean slightly moved his arm away from his eyes so he could see his slave, groaning as the soft light of the room burned through his skull. Marco placed one hand on Jean's arm, caressing him in a soothing motion while he presented him with the water. The young slave didn't have to say a word for Jean to straighten up and obediently drink the clear liquid, starting slow but soon emptying the jug in large gulps. He must have been really thirsty but failed to notice it because of his current hazy state.

Marco praised him like he would a well behaved child when the prince was done, his hand moving to his sweaty forehead. Jean didn't have a fever but Marco still couldn't leave him to rest in soaked sheets. It was probably going to be difficult but the brunette thought Jean might feel better if he took a bath. 

“Jean, I know you don't feel so good but do you think you would be able to walk to the bathroom so we could get you cleaned up?” Marco asked, his voice barely a whisper to avoid aggravating Jean's headache, his fingers tracing gentle patterns in his hairline. 

“I can try if you help me.” The prince answered in a breath, voice hoarse, surprisingly docile in his malaise.

Marco rewarded him with a smile and helped him get up.

–--------

The walk to the royal bathroom was slow and quite long. Jean's legs were wobbly and he had to lean most of his weight on Marco to be able to walk. Marco would have carried him, but he had to admit he was afraid to bump into someone with Jean in his arms. People would talk and he didn't want it, because it would probably mean trouble for the prince and also for him.

On the way, a few slave girls offered Marco their help and he gladly accepted it, asking them to fill the bath with hot water as well as change the sheets in Jean's bed. He thanked them plenty and when they finally reached their destination, Marco helped Jean undress while the pond-like bath was being filled. No fancy flowers were added on the surface of the water this time. Marco felt it wasn't necessary and that the scent could also upset Jean's already queasy stomach.

After the other slaves left, the brunette guided the prince to the water, holding his arm to help him into the basin. When Jean was comfortably settled, his back resting against the edge, Marco released his hold on him to fetch sandalwood scented natron, a cleaning paste containing ash and clay.

Jean's eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply to chase the waves of nausea away when Marco knelt at the edge of the basin. Through the transparent water that went up to Jean's chest, Marco could see everything, every detail of the prince's slim body. But he didn't feel embarrassed. Maybe it was the context; how he was focused on caring for Jean, but mostly, it was because he was now in peace with his feelings and not running from them anymore.  
The affection he had for Jean was undeniable, and now that he admitted and accepted them, he was proud of those feelings. And for now it was enough. He didn't want to bother Jean by wording those feelings, not wanting to throw away the recent, and hardly won, peace and comfort of their current relationship. And if he ever were to express those feelings, it wouldn't be in words but in kind gestures and acts full of tenderness. A bit like how he was about to wash Jean.  
It was strange how the freckled boy was more inclined to carry out what would be considered slave tasks now that he wasn't ordered to. Marco was a generous person, and now that he was more Jean's company (dare he even say friend?) than his slave, he gladly offered to help the young prince with his daily routine. It didn't feel like a bother anymore and the brunette could even say without lying that in the end he was happy to be Jean's personal slave. It made him feel special. Jean made him feel special.

“You okay down there?” Marco asked gently, while he spread the natron on his hands.

“I'm gonna keep my eyes closed” Jean answered weakly. “the world is spinning too much.” 

The prince couldn't see it but Marco gave him a sympathetic smile. “Just try to relax, I'll do my best to make this quick.”

Jean listened, his shoulders relaxing when Marco started rubbing them clean. Like promised, the young slave worked quickly, lifting Jean's limp arms with no effort so he could scrub them too. The prince's chest followed, but Marco didn't go further down for it would mean a tiring gymnastic for Jean. The places where he sweated the most were clean anyway. Well almost. Marco ran his fingers through Jean's sweaty hair with a disapproving pout.

“Is it okay if I wash your hair too?”

Jean let out a weak grunt of approbation and Marco set to work on the blond mop of hair. He kept his touch gentle, rubbing and massaging the prince's scalp with care. Jean let out an appreciating sigh at the treatment, making Marco's smile widen. The brunette gave extra attention to the prince's nape, making him purr and Marco was midway through an amused chuckle when without warning, Jean's back slipped against the side of the bath, the water engulfing him up to the throat with a loud splash. The young slave let out a panicked gasp and quickly caught the prince under the arms to get him back up before he would be submerged.

“Jean are you alright?!”

Marco eyed the prince's face and closed eyes, searching for any sign of consciousness he could find. After a few seconds of panic that felt like eternity, Jean gave a displeased moan at how loud Marco's voice was in his ears. “I think I was gone for a second.”

Marco let out a relieved breath. “You scared me!” He whined, gazing into Jean's finally opened dark circled eyes. The prince must be really tired and the little incident was probably a sign that the bath had lasted long enough.  
Marco helped Jean out of the bath and dried his body and hair with a clean linen towel. It was clear that the bath had relaxed Jean, but also made him dizzier. His legs were even wobblier than before, but his complexion was far better looking, gone from greenish to a prettier pink.

Despite the promise of a clean bed, the walk back to his room was difficult for Jean.

“Marco, I'm exhausted, why can't you carry me like you did last night?” He begged, plaintive.

Jean didn't seem to remember all of the previous night's events, the whole evening being a messy blur in his head, but of course he had to remember that part. 

“It's your punishment for drinking too much” Marco replied with a sigh, feeling even more of the prince's weight fall on him. “Next time you'll think twice before downing wine like it's water.”

A distressed whine escaped Jean before he muttered a barely audible “I'm never drinking again.”

–--------

The sound escaping Jean's lips when his back made contact with his mattress again was borderline obscene so much it was heartfelt.

Ears slightly red, Marco busied himself with preparing a concoction Bertholdt suggested to ease Jean's symptoms. It was a rather weird mix of milk, ginger, peppermint, lemon and artichoke, with a touch of honey to sweeten all of it. It was composed of plants supposed to be good for the liver and fight the nausea and headache.

“Don't fall asleep Jean!” Marco called out when he heard the prince's breathing deepen. 

The answer was an incoherent grumble and so the young slave finished preparing the drink in a hurry so he could give it to Jean before he fell asleep. After he was done, he rushed to Jean's side, forcing him to straighten up so he could drink. The prince took a tentative sip and made a grimace at the strange taste.

“Come on, one last effort, it will help you get better quicker.” Marco coaxed Jean into drinking more of the weird beverage.

Jean nodded and courageously emptied his cup in one go, sticking his tongue out in disgust when he was done.  
Marco praised him while he put the cup away. “You did great” He whispered while playing with Jean's hair, a habit didn't try to repress. And giving the soft sigh the prince let out as he lied back on the bed, he didn't mind it. 

“Marco”

Jean's voice was so low that Marco almost thought he imagined his name being called. He looked down to Jean's face, questioning. The prince's eyes were however closed, but given how he bit his lip, he was clearly preoccupied. “What is it?” Marco gently pressed.

“Last night, I don't remember it well and-” Jean started, opening his tawny eyes to meet attentive brown ones. “Did I say anything rude to you?” He blurted, worry readable in his gaze. 

Eyes wide, Marco quickly blinked away his surprise at the sudden question. “Not at all, why would you think that?”

Jean looked away. “Well, you know, sometimes I know I can be a little...” The prince searched the right word and Marco decided to help him. “harsh?” He offered. 

“I wasn't going to be so diplomatic, but yes.” Jean agreed, smiling faintly, almost nervously.

“Don't worry, I'll tell you if something you say or do bothers me.” Marco reassured. “I already did it before.” He added, remembering the numerous times he stood up to the prince. 

“Right” Jean still refused to meet Marco's eyes and it was obvious that there was something on his mind. But Marco didn't urge him, continuing his gentle hair stroking until he decided to talk. “You always do so much for me, even when you're not asked to. I hope I'm not too much of a burden.”

Marco frowned. “I wouldn't do those things if I didn't want to. And beside, I'm your slave, it's my job.” 

Jean shot him a burning gaze and straightened up, forcing Marco's fingers to leave his hair. “It's not!” He snapped, making Marco start. “It's supposed to be something reciprocal! Slaves help their masters with their daily life, but in exchange masters give them protection, food, a home.” He exclaimed before gripping his aching head with a wince. Marco tried to calm him down, coaxing him into lying back on his pillow.

“I don't give you anything. I-I'd like to do something for you.” 

Marco appreciated Jean's sudden momentum of kindness, it meant a lot to him. But he felt satisfied with his current situation, his life actually wasn't so bad. And the only thing he could ever want, Jean wouldn't give him. Marco was rather optimistic but he wasn't stupid, the prince would never give him his freedom back so he could go back to his family. Even for one day. It wasn't Jean's fault, it just wasn't how things worked in this country.

“You don't have to feel like you _have to do_ anything for me.” Marco replied gently, his hand automatically going back to Jean's hair. “You already do a lot: you trust me to take care of you, you share your ideas and opinions with me, you make me discover things I would never have dreamed to witness...”

He trailed off, thinking about the chariot rides, the gardens, the pyramids and all those things Jean taught him, as well as all those myths and legends he told him about. But Jean huffed, definitely not convinced. “That's nothing.”  
Marco gently cupped the prince's cheeks in his hands so he would meet his eyes. “Maybe, but to me it means a lot.” 

Jean stayed quiet, he didn't have anything to say to that. From this close Marco could see he was blushing. His lips were slightly parted around hot breaths and for a second, the young slave wondered what would happen if he kissed them. How would Jean react? Would he be surprised? Would he push him away? Would he kiss him back? How would he taste?  
But his questioning was short lived, the door slamming open. 

“Your highness, I came to see if you felt better than last night?”

Nick appeared, bowing down slightly to greet the prince. His sharp grey eyes fell on Marco who quickly let go of Jean's face while the blond winced, the newcomer's loud voice sending a pulsing pain in his skull.

“I'm fine” Jean mumbled grumpily, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back onto Marco's lap, seeking his comforting presence.  
Marco blushed slightly, embarrassed by this sort of public display of affection; however some part of him couldn't help but feel satisfied at the outraged expression it brought on the priest's face. 

“Very well, I see you're taken care of” Nick huffed, clearly upset by how he had just been brushed off by the prince “But let me tell you you're lucky your father is still not feeling well. Were it for him, I'm sure you wouldn't have received any treatment.” he added, inspecting the empty mug that used to contain the weird hangover cure. “Sometimes lessons are better learned the hard way.”

Jean didn't reply, stubbornly throwing his arm in front of his eyes. But Marco knew he still heard those words, and they would affect him more than he let show. Remembering Jean's teary eyes and shaking shoulders from the previous night, Marco felt anger towards the priest rise inside him again. Jean had obviously learned his lesson and there was no point in insisting with mean comments like the priest did.

Nick frowned at the slave's dark glare, holding it while he spoke again. “One last thing your Highness. I think you should teach that slave of yours some manners, and to show some respect.”

Jean and Marco didn't even have time to reply as the door slammed shut.

“What in Aaru was he talking about?” Jean asked with a weak sigh, opening one eye to look at Marco “You're the most polite slave I've ever seen. You don't listen to him, you don't change anything!”

Marco bit his lip, hesitating to tell Jean about how he snapped at the priest the previous night. But he decided against it, not wanting to remind him of how bad he felt back then. Still, he was flattered to see the prince appreciated him the way he was.

“I hope my father will be fine.” Jean breathed a few minutes of silence later, almost inaudibly while he took Marco's hand in his, absentmindedly playing with his slave's fingers. And even though it was hard to see, Marco could read the concern and worry in the half-asleep tawny eyes.

–--------

Jean had been asleep for probably more than an hour when Marco's stomach started grumbling. He would have continued watching over the prince's peaceful figure if he wasn't so hungry and if he didn't fear the loud noises his belly produced would wake him up. So after he made sure Jean was fine, he headed out to the kitchens to quickly grab some food.  
When he got there, he expected to see Bertholdt, and maybe Reiner, but he never would have guessed the two other persons he spotted talking to each other would be there too.

“Hey look! Here comes the boy who got bedded last night” Ymir exclaimed from where she was sitting beside Reiner, a smirk plastered on her face.

“Trust me, he didn't. We would have heard it in the whole palace!” Eren huffed “Unless Marco's very bad at what he does...”

His topaz eyes were piercing and Marco felt himself blush at those innuendos. But he knew better than to deny them; it would only fuel their teasing. They could think whatever they wanted, Marco knew the truth, and he liked it much more.

Ymir nodded, agreeing with Eren's point. “But Marco can't be bad at it, us freckles are always gods in the bedroom!” She said with a wolfish grin.

Marco smiled nervously, awkwardly standing at the kitchen's entrance. He didn't like to be the center of the conversation and he didn't know what to say or do with himself while Eren and Ymir continued their heated discussion.

“Was there anything you wanted Marco?” Bertholdt asked, looking up from the fruits he was peeling. His smile was faint but soft and his eyes told Marco he probably hadn't slept much, which wasn't really a surprise since he was of cleaning duty after the previous night's party.

“I just wanted to grab some food while Jean's sleeping. Is it okay?”

“Of course!” Bertholdt's smile widened as he pushed a few badly cut fruit slices towards him. “I can only give you the bad looking ones, but trust me, that doesn't make them less good.”

Marco trusted his friend and put an orange slice into his mouth, relieving in the sweet and yet slightly acidic taste. It was incredibly refreshing. The royal garden's fruits were delicious, for they were of the best quality and always carefully tended to. Marco asked it he could bring a few oranges to Jean's room. Maybe the prince's stomach wouldn't be as upset when he would wake up, and eating a bit would probably do him some good.

“Did the remedy I gave you help?” 

Marco nodded. “Yeah, Jean stopped throwing up and I think his headache was getting better too. He still needs to rest though.” 

“ 'Jean'?” Eren's voice caught Marco's attention and the smile he was sending him meant no good. “Now that I think about it, last night you addressed him by his first name too, that's new.”

Marco shrugged, trying to be nonchalant, even if he knew he was blushing. The other slave always used Jean's first name when talking about him but addressed him with “your highness”s or “my prince”s, and it was true that Marco was the only one to call Jean by his name when he talked to him. Well, he was supposed to do so only in private, but it became such a habit that the previous night, he let it slip in public. He didn't really regret it, but he could do without the teasing it now caused.

“Are you jealous Eren? Because you never got to call him that?” Ymir asked, moving the teasing target onto Eren.

“No.” Eren answered honestly, causing Ymir's eyes to widen. “I'm just happy that Jean found someone as special as Marco. I clearly wasn't as good for him as he is.”

Marco met Eren's eyes and a rush of sympathy filled him. Behind his apparent ego, Eren wasn't as confident as he seemed. And Marco was sure he still had some sort of affection for Jean. One can't share the intimate activities they took part in without at least a bit of feelings.

“Don't give me that face Marco, I already told you I'm far better off doing my new guard job.” Eren grumbled, moving to face away from Marco. 

“By the way, what are you even doing here Eren?” Reiner asked, changing the heavy conversation subject. He was a better atmosphere reader than his appearance could suggest. “Where's the angry little midget you call your superior?”

“He's participating in a ritual ceremony at the temple. And I'm still not allowed to come along.” The younger slave answered with a pout. “And you big guy? How come you're working inside now?”

Bertholdt dropped his knife, the metallic sound causing everyone to fall silent as the air became thick with tension. Marco bit his lip and Ymir looked around, confused at the sudden change in her friend's faces. It wasn't Eren's fault, he didn't know about what happened at the pyramid building site. 

“Well I got a little health problem and I don't think I'm suited for quarries work anymore.” Reiner finally answered, smiling, his expression lacking any bitterness, so far away from his lover's one. He picked up Bertholdt's knife and put it back into his hand, reassuringly kissing his knuckles in the process, to show him it was okay. “But I'm not staying in the kitchens, it's actually my last day here.”

Bertholdt's head snapped and he glared at the blond, the worry in his eyes mixed with fear and confusion. He was as clueless about this revelation as his friends were. 

“I was ordered this morning to go back to working in the gardens, like I used to when I first came here.”

Bertholdt's expression turned soft and it seemed like he was about to cry. But he held it in, keeping all the emotions, the relief and nostalgia this announcement caused for a more private time with his lover. Reiner tenderly caressed his cheek, and as Bertholdt greedily nuzzled against the warm touch, Marco felt a slight pang of envy hit him. He found himself craving the warmth and softness of Jean's body against him, the tenderness of his touch, the sweet scent of his hair. 

The young slave got up, excusing himself before he rushed back to the prince's room, pulled towards him by an inexplicable and irresistible force.

–--------

A few days later, the prince was feeling better, and so did Pharaoh. They had breakfast together like they usually did, and Marco appreciated that Pharaoh didn't blame his son for ending up drunk after the party. The sovereign didn't mention that incident and it couldn't be that he forgot about it because Marco was sure the high priest kept reminding him of it.  
But he did praise the absent priest for helping him get better in such a short time, feeding him with powerful remedies and staying by his side at all time. Jean only half listened to those congratulations, idly picking at his food, his head downcast. But to Marco's satisfaction, Jean still ate almost half of his plate. He was making progress.

The prince didn't voice it until later, while he was taking a stroll with Marco in the gardens, but he was glad that his father was feeling better, and he was thankful for Nick's devotion. Even if he also stated that the priest was often incredibly annoying, Jean told Marco that he was an erudite man who deserved his position, since he owned it to his own efforts only, unlike himself.  
Marco frowned at that bitter comment and stopped Jean in his tracks, scolding him for belittling himself so. The prince apologized, head low and bottom lip bitten, and Marco offered him a kind smile, taking him by the hand to continue their peaceful walk under the shade of the palm trees.

–--------

Marco carefully turned the dry wrinkled page of an old mythology book, excited to read the next part of the life of Horus, the falcon god. It was fascinating. The young slave didn't know how long he had been in the library, but surely, given how high the sun was in the sky, longer than was planned. Jean probably finished his fencing lesson long ago, but Marco was so engrossed into his reading that he decided the prince could wait for him a little longer. If he really needed him, Jean knew where to find him anyway.  
Marco let his chin rest on his hand as he read, relieving into the peace of the warm afternoon. When he felt like nothing could disturb him, the door creaked open, and from where he was sitting, Marco spotted the messy two-toned hair of the prince. He reluctantly closed his book as Jean came closer and promised himself to finish it as soon as possible. As Marco got up to put the book away, he saw that Jean seemed happy with something, his steps hurried and a barely hidden smile splitting his face in two.

“You seem in a good mood” He remarked with a smile of his own. “Did the fencing go well?”

Jean didn't answer, instead taking Marco's wrist in his hand as soon as the slave put the book at its place on the shelf. 

“Come on, come with me! I want to show you something.” Jean requested hurriedly.

“What is it?” Marco asked curiously. He really wondered what put Jean into such a state of excitement.

“It's a surprise” Jean replied. “Come on Marco, hurry!” He pressed, gently tugging on his slave's arm.

“Alright, alright” Marco chuckled, amused by Jean's eagerness.

The young slave let the prince hastily lead him through the corridors. Jean was walking so fast he was almost running, and Marco had trouble keeping up with him. He finally slowed down when they exited the palace and reached the stables. Marco was confused as to what Jean wanted to show him there. Maybe the prince found himself another even more impressive stallion to ride? But it seemed unlikely. Jean liked his black mount far too much to need another one. Especially when it was already hard for him to find the time to ride between his numerous lessons and all the social events he had to attend.

They came to a halt and Marco looked at Jean questioningly. But before he could ask about the surprise, Jean let go of his hand to stand in front of him.

“You have to close your eyes.” He requested with a cute grin, causing Marco to docilely comply. 

The young slave felt air hitting his face and he couldn't contain a small chuckle. “Jean, are you waving in front of my face?”

Jean let out a guilty little grumble. “Just checking that you're not cheating.” He mumbled “You promise me you won't open your eyes?” 

Marco nodded, amused by Jean's borderline childish attitude. “I promise.”

Marco didn't see any interest in cheating, but he still had to force his eyes to stay closed when Jean lead him forward by the hand. He trusted the prince, but it was still a bit scary to not see where they were going. Especially when the light behind his eyelids seemed to decrease and he started hearing agitation and breathing noises that hinted that they had entered the stables and were now surrounded by the royal horses.  
Marco's grip on Jean's hand tightened instinctively. He wasn't used to be so close to those large and tall animals, and even though he knew they were rather peaceful creatures, he was still not so reassured.  
Jean stopped and squeezed his slave's hand in a reassuring manner. He put his second hand on Marco's shoulder, turning him around to face what was probably the surprise. Marco bit his lip, impatient to discover what Jean wanted to show him.

“Keep your eyes closed.” Jean insisted, taking Marco's hand in his and guiding it forward.

Marco jumped when his fingers were met with a soft velvety surface. He tried to retreat his hand when he felt warm air being blown against them by what were without a doubt the nostrils of a horse, but Jean gently kept his hand in place. “You can open your eyes” He whispered.

Now that they were allowed to, Marco's eyes blinked open. They were indeed in the stables, and he was standing less than 3 feet away from a horse that was a lot smaller than him. Its was 14 hands tall at most and seemed a lot calmer than Jean's stallion. It's coat was shining, the muscles under it moving with every steady breaths. Its head was thin and refined, with deep dark eyes and its nose was slightly concave, a specificity of the Arabian breed. But what surprised Marco the most was how the animal's grey coat wasn't completely even. On the horse's shoulders, there were darker spots, spots the color of dried blood.

“It's bloody-shouldered” Marco breathed in awe, daring to run his fingers through the oddly colored part of the animal's coat. 

“I saw her at the market and I just had to buy her.” Jean proudly explained with a grin, his hand joining Marco's to caress the mare's shoulders.

Marco turned to Jean. “I can't believe you remembered that story.”

The young slave felt his heart flutter in his chest. Jean remembered the first story he ever told him on that night where he became his personal slave. This story was special for Marco and if Jean remembered it, he dared hoping it was special for him too. 

“Of course I remember! I remember all of your stories.” Jean replied quietly, taking Marco's hand back into his.

Marco felt his chest warm up with satisfaction. The knowledge that the prince listened to him with attention was flattering, and it fueled the soft fire Jean lit up in his heart.

“It's yours” Jean said, motioning to the mare with his free hand. 

“What?!” Marco asked, flabbergasted. “You can't be serious my prince, a slave can't possibly own a horse!” He said, searching Jean's face to find out if he was joking.

Jean clicked his tongue when Marco used his title to address him instead of his name.

“Slaves are allowed to receive presents from their master, and this is my present to you.” He ignored Marco's protest, shushing him with a raised index finger. “Besides, I brought the mare for another reason.” He explained. “Since you're always sick during chariot rides, you're going to learn how to ride and you're going to ride with me when we stroll alongside the Nile.”

Jean's tone didn't let place to arguing and Marco let out a resigned “Thank you for the present.” It was such an honor and the horse was beautiful. He was overjoyed by the prince's generosity but the young slave still voiced his concerned about being able to ride the horse.

“I'll teach you” Jean simply answered, waving his hand dismissively. “The mare is small and also very calm, so you won't have any trouble handling her.”

Marco wasn't convinced, but he didn't have time to say anything more when Jean let go of his hand and walked away. He chased after his warm palm but in vain, his fingers suddenly feeling cold. 

“Where are you going Jean?” He wished his voice didn't sound so needy.

The smirk on the prince's face was mischievous. “Your lessons start now.”

–--------

A few minutes later, Jean had harnessed the mare with a simple bridle on her head and a blue embroidered cloth on her back. Marco watched the prince with apprehension as he motioned for him to come closer. He bit his lip “I'm not sure this is a good idea.”

Jean dismissed Marco's worries with a wave of his hand. “I'm sure you're going to do great.” He encouraged while patting the horse's neck “I'll be keeping a hold on the reins anyway so don't worry. The mare is calm she won't bolt, but even if she does, I'll be there to stop her.”

A bit reassured by Jean's words, Marco came closer to the mare, nervously patting her back. The animal was a descendant of Ahmed's courageous mare, so he wanted to believe he could trust it to be patient and docile.

“Come on, hop up.” Jean encourage him with a small hand sign.

Despite his apprehension, the young slave had no trouble getting onto the small horse's back, using his muscled arms to haul himself up. He listened to Jean's advice to position himself right and tried to get comfortable without bothering the mare too much. As promised, the animal stayed calm, only flicking its ears back and forth from time to time. It felt strange for the slave to be up there, on a living animal, without his feet touching the ground. It was stressing but also very exciting.  
When Marco stated that he was ready to go, Jean took the reins in hand and gently led the mare forward. She set into a slow walk and Marco quickly grabbed its mane and squeezed the horse's flanks with his thighs so he wouldn't slip and fall. The mare raised her head slightly as he wriggled about and Jean chuckled. 

“Relax, you're not going to fall. Follow the movement, don't try to go against it.” The prince advised, stopping the mare to give Marco enough time to get back into place.

The next try went better. Marco relaxed and he found out that Jean was right, he wasn't slipping if he accompanied the horse's movements without fighting it. A smile reached his lips. He understood why Jean liked riding, it was a weird but really nice feeling, completely different from chariot rides. He felt the powerful muscles of the mare moving under him and he thought horses were actually pretty nice creatures for letting humans ride them when they could surely throw them away with ease at any time.

Jean looked up to check on his slave and grinned when he saw him smile. “See? Told you you'd do great.” 

After a few more minutes, Marco grew confident enough to straighten up and make conversation with Jean, instead of focusing on staying on the horse only. He started believing he could actually get a hold of this. 

“Ready for the next step?” Jean soon asked, seeing how good his slave was doing, a smirk back on his face.

Marco immediately gripped the mare's mane again, worried about what the 'next step' would be. And he was right to do so, for before he could ask about that 'next step', Jean was urging the mare to quicken her pace, clicking his tongue to excite her.  
Obediently, the mare fell into an airy trot and Marco let out a surprised yelp, causing Jean to laugh, playfully urging the mare faster. But the prince had overestimated Marco's balance. The young slave was suffering from the new pace, uncontrollably bouncing up and down the horse's back. Soon, he found himself slipping to the side. He tried to catch his balance back, but his efforts only made him fall faster. 

When Marco hit the ground with a muffled sound, Jean's laugh stopped dead in his throat. The young prince paled and quickly stopped the mare, letting go off the reins completely to rush tp his slave's side.  
Marco's back ached with a dull pain and he had sand in his mouth. It was unpleasant, but he was alright. It wasn't a bad fall; they weren't going very fast and the sand absorbed the impact. But before he could get up, Jean came kneeling beside him and started fussing over him.

“Marco, are you alright?!” He asked, worry readable in his tawny eyes. “I'm so sorry, I was reckless, I shouldn't have done that! Are you hurt?!” Marco didn't even have time to answer that Jean was already taking his hand in his while he resumed drowning him in questions. “Do you think you can move? Can you get up?”

Marco gently pushed Jean away with a small chuckle. “I'm fine, don't worry.” He said while Jean continued showering him with apologies. “Just a bit dusty” He added while getting up and dusting himself off. He wiped his dry mouth but there was still sand in odd places that he'll have to remove later. 

Jean slowly got up too and it looked like he was trying to make himself as small as possible when he asked. “Are you mad at me?”

“I'm not” Marco reassured, running his thumb over Jean's hand where they were still joined. “But next time let's go slower okay?” 

Jean vigorously nodded his head, biting his lip in regret. Marco's muscles would probably ache the next day, but he couldn't be mad at Jean who was already doing his best to teach him how to ride.  
The young slave went back to the mare who was waiting for them patiently. He patted her soft nostrils before hauling himself onto her back again, this time with a little less ease. He knew he had to try again now or else fear would settle down on him and he wouldn't be able to ride again.  
Jean kept an eye on him all the while and to Marco's surprise, once he was settled down, the prince swiftly jumped behind him. The mare, still immobile, didn't seem to mind the additional weight on her back as much as Marco did as he asked him what he was doing.

“This time, I'm making sure you won't fall” Jean said, his hands coming to rest on his slave's waist.

Marco was out of words. Jean's hands were on him, and he felt the warmth from his chest radiate close against his back. His cheeks reddened and he barely caught Jean's instructions when he explained him how to hold the reins. Next, the prince told him to use his heels to gently press the mare's sides so she would move on. He did as instructed, and the mare set into a calm walk again.  
Marco's grip on the reins tightened, not from the fear of falling again, but because Jean's hand had moved down to his hips, his chest now pressed flushed against his slave's back.

“You have to follow the movement with your hips.” He whispered, his warm breath tickling Marco's ear and his fingers pressing against his hipbone. “Or else you'll fall again.”

Marco's breath hitched in his throat when he felt Jean's hips move to the horse's rhythm behind him, causing them to bump against his bottom periodically. He breathed out slowly, trying to calm his beating heart. He felt feverish so much he was flustered from Jean's touches and he was afraid he might faint under the burning sun.  
Jean's words weren't said in a tendentious manner; it was merely a professional advice. But the prince probably didn't realized what it did to his slave. The closeness, the warmth, Jean's smell...

Marco shook his head, trying to clear his mind. Instead of focusing on Jean, he tried to follow his advice and started shyly moving his hips to the horse's rhythm.  
And it actually made things easier. Embarrassment slowly letting place to enjoyment, Marco turned to Jean, smiling to him. Jean smiled back, and there was no need for more words as they continued their little walk.

After some time, Marco felt Jean's weight increase on his back, the prince's cheek now pressed against his shoulder. The steady pace of the horse was gently rocking them, causing Jean to let out a relaxed yawn. “We'll try trotting another time.” He breathed, his hands absentmindedly moving up and down Marco's sides, sending pleasant shivers down the slave's spine.  
The intimate touches and the promise of another riding lesson with Jean filled Marco's heart with longing and impatience. He put one of his hands over Jean's as he nodded in agreement. The prince didn't object, even going as far as entwining his fingers with his slave's and Marco was sure he even felt lips ghost over his shoulders at the same time.

The young slave was grateful for being able to enjoy such a peaceful and almost tender moment with Jean. But he was afraid he would become greedy, unable to go without those touches, and if it ended up like this, he wouldn't be able to stand Jean refusing to indulge him like Marco himself refused him long ago. It was scary, to find out the prince, despite his high rank, had gained so much power over his heart. He made his way there unintentionally, gradually, almost shyly, so unlike his public attitude, and Marco felt like he ended up enslaved not months ago by the chains of his abductors on his hands and feet, but later, by the strings Jean unwillingly placed over his heart.  
It was ironic how he became even more and more of a slave every time Jean allowed him not to act like one. But he didn't see it as bad thing, merely as something new, unexpected and mostly unknown. And even if Marco had good adaptation skills, he still inherited a certain fear of the unknown from his distant ancestors; a fear bringing safety and caution, so humanity would survive. Although in this particular case, it only brought the young slave hesitation and longing.

Marco would have to tell Jean about these feelings someday; to show him how much he affected him. Now could have been the right time. Marco could have just turned around and sought Jean's lips. Acts were often stronger than words after all. He often thought about it when he was alone, finding himself wanting to feel their softness pressed on his own lips instead of haphazardly fleeting against his shoulders or collarbones. But for many reasons, he never materialized those daydreams. 

Letting out a soft sigh and gently squeezing Jean's hand, Marco slowly turned the mare around. Millions of thoughts were still swirling dizzily inside his head as they headed back to the stables in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably stop with the horses thing, but I can't help it, I just love horses too much to not make them an important part of the story.
> 
> Next chapter will be a bit delayed too because my finals are coming up and I won't be free until the middle of june... Besides, the next chapter is very very important so I want it to be as good as possible (ahah, you're wondering what's going to happen aren't you? :) Well it's probably a bit obvious in broad outlines... but anyway, look forward to it!)


	11. Reunited by Nefertem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait everyone but the chapter is finally here :).
> 
> First I'd like to thank you all for your support, I read every single comment and they make me so happy, it's insane. Over 4000 hits, I can't believe it! it means so much to me!  
> Thanks to everyone who left kudos or boomarked, or just read too and thanks to everyone who wished me luck on my finals (I think I did okay by the way ^^)
> 
> I put all I had into this chapter (like I always do, but even more so this time XD) so I hope you'll enjoy it.

Blood was pounding into Marco's eardrums and the wind was blowing so hard against his face that he was sure he would soon lose the ability to hear, as well the ability to breath. But it didn't stop him from pressing his heels against his mare's flanks one more time, urging her impossibly faster.

During the previous weeks, thanks to Jean's unsually patient teaching, Marco had mastered the art of horse riding. Well not exactly, but he was able to stay on the wildly galloping mare without problem, controlling the pace and the direction like he was born to do it, which was enough to please both him and the prince galloping beside him.

It all started with a peaceful stroll alongside the Nile, the kind that had become routine for the prince and his slave since Marco learned how to ride. Whenever Jean felt frustrated with something and needed fresh air, or when he simply wanted to go out for the pleasure of riding, they would take the horses and leave together without telling anyone. And even though he found them scary at first, Marco learned to love those little escapades that could end up being very relaxing or sometimes even, exciting.

And today's jaunt was an exciting one. Seeing how good Marco had become at riding, Jean hadn't been afraid to offer him to gallop all the way back to the palace which Marco had gladly accepted, thinking the higher pace would bring a soothing breeze that could help with how hot he felt under the burning sun. But what started as a calm canter quickly turned into a race, thanks to Jean's recklessness and Marco's sudden sense of competition.   
The young slave wanted to show the prince how much he learned thanks to him, and with the little grey mare as his mount, he wasn't afraid to push his limits.

However the brunette never expect to be able to stand up to Jean and his gigantic black mass of muscles when it came to speed. It seemed like he had underestimated his small horse's strength.  
In fact, the two horses were galloping side by side, neither one accepting to let the other gain ground. They were both breathing heavily through flared nostrils, and Marco was proud to see that Jean's stallion was sweating as much as his courageous little mare, the beast's coat glisten brightly under the sun rays.  
The palace was coming closer and closer at a dizzying speed and Marco daringly clicked his tongue to coax his mount into giving one last effort to win the race. Flicking her ears forward in understanding, the mare lengthened her strides and Marco bend forward over her neck, gripping her mane tightly so as not to fall. They were progressively overtaking their opponents, now being one head ahead. Marco looked up to Jean with a pleased grin, causing the prince to snort in disdain, in unison with his monster of a horse.

“Don't think I'll let you win so easily Marco!” The prince exclaimed before urging his mount faster with loud clicking noises.

The stallion easily took the lead in a few easy strides that showed how powerful it was. Marco looked at the animal in admiration; it was so majestic, mane dancing in the wind and galloping so fast it almost looked like it was flying. His gaze then traveled up to its rider, and his smile widened at how blissfully happy Jean looked at that moment. The prince let go off his mount's mane, the movement of his hips perfectly timed with his horse's strides, enough to keep him balanced without gripping the long black mane, and he raised his hands up to the sky with a mad but oh so heartfelt shout. He was the picture of freedom, and Marco was sure if he wanted, Jean could reach the sun. He was so beautiful.

And then Jean was laughing hysterically, like Marco never saw him, and like this, a new facet of that amazing jewel he was so eager to discover was revealed to him; a facet that probably very few people ever had the chance to see. And god was Jean's laugh contagious.  
Marco found himself laughing too, and it was probably the first time since he set foot in Egypt that he was able to do so. He never wanted this moment to end, wanting to continue galloping side by side with Jean until they both burned their new-found wings into the blazing sun.

But his mother taught him that all good things come to an end, or else they end up not being as good; and so when they had to slow down into a trot and finally to a stop in front of the stables, Marco felt a tinge of sadness even thought he was also glad. Glad that he lived this moment shared only between him and the prince and glad he could keep Jean's radiant expression engraved in his memory for as long as he would live.

After they dismounted, it took both riders a few minutes to catch their breaths. They tended to the horses in silence, relieving in the afterglow of their adrenaline rush, not even bothering to crown the victor of the race.   
Both the stallion and the mare's breathing had gone back to normal but they were still drenched in sweat, their coats dirtied by the sand they had lifted with their crazy race. Jean suggested they splashed them with water to avoid the sweat sticking to their coats and not get them sick. He immediately busied himself with filling two buckets of water, and even though it wasn't the first time he witnessed Jean's thoughtfulness towards animals, Marco was still amazed by it.   
Contrary to what he first thought, Jean was hard-working when he liked something, and he always insisted to be the one to tend to his horse; personally taking care of its health, feeding it and brushing it whenever he had the time to do it. And the stable workers were rather thankful for it because Jean's stallion could sometimes be a handful so much it was hot-tempered and sometimes even a bit aggressive. But with Jean, it acted like a huge puppy, tenderly bumping its large head into the prince's chest every given occasion, earning a breathy laugh and a pat from its owner. 

Jean handed Marco a bucket and immediately returned to his horse's side, splashing its sticky black coat with fresh water. The brunette mirrored him, but unfortunately, he didn't gauge his movement very well and added to the mare's height, half of the bucket's content ended up splashing Jean's back instead of the mare's back. The prince let out a small shriek, his shoulders tensing at the surprise attack and Marco's hand quickly covered his mouth to contain a shocked breath. Jean turned back, his accusing gaze falling onto his slave who tried to make himself as small as possible, hiding behind his horse, eyes pleading for forgiveness. Jean opened his mouth, but before he could even say a word, both horses shook themselves as to dry their wet coats, spraying both their riders with fat droplets of water.  
Now wet too, even though not as much as Jean, Marco started laughing again, enthusiastically patting his mare's neck. The prince soon laughed with him, all resentment from before seemingly forgotten.

Or probably not, Marco thought when he received the equivalent of a bucket of water right in the face. 

He coughed a few times to clear his mouth from the liquid and removed his wet dark bangs from in front of his eyes, only to be met with Jean's proud smirk. He shouldn't have underestimated the prince's spirit of revenge. But Marco would not let himself be messed about, and if Jean wanted to play, he would play.  
The young slave calmly walked around his mare and a grin split his face when he saw Jean step back before his cool but menacing demeanor. Marco used his height and strength advantage to swiftly catch Jean by the waist and haul him up so his feet wouldn't touch the ground. 

“Marco what are you doing?” Jean asked nervously, but he soon understood his slave's plan when Marco started dragging him towards the horses' drinking trough. 

A chorus of high pitched “no”s escaped the prince's throat as he struggled to break free from Marco's strong hold. He threatened and ordered him to stop but the brunette didn't give in, and when they were close enough, he unceremoniously tossed the prince into the trough (that was more like a basin really since it was designed to water hundreds of horses).

Turning his back, Marco clasped and rubbed his hands against each other in satisfaction. He still pricked up his ear to make sure he heard the sound of Jean resurfacing and spitting out water with an annoyed grumble (that sounded extremely cute to his ears if he could add). The next splashing sound told him the prince safely got out of the waters and that's when Marco allowed himself to turn back to said prince.   
But sadly, he was a second too late to dodge Jean's next attack. The prince had taken advantage of his slave's turned back to quickly gather a handful of fresh hay and was now delightfully shampooing Marco's hair with fore mentionned hay, the wetness of the slave's long bangs making the little hay strands stick onto his dark curls. Jean proudly smirked while Marco protested with flailing arms; it would take him hours to get all the hay off his head and it made that revenge taste extremely sweet to Jean.

But Marco wasn't done fighting and he soon tackled Jean, the force of the blow making them both fall into a bale of hay. Now that he had the upper-hand, Marco inflicted the same treatment to Jean's hair, ruffling it and messing it with handfuls of fresh hay while his victim was kicking and protesting under him. Once he was satisfied with his work, Marco pulled back to watch the final result.   
Jean was panting as much as he was, his chest heaving with every drawn breath but he was now immobile under him, his cheeks flushed with the excitement of their childish fight. He looked beautiful then too, all flustered and exhausted.   
Instinctively, Marco leaned a bit closer, the adrenaline pounding through his veins making him braver, daring. Jean stayed still under him, his eyes searching, face open and vulnerable, waiting for his slave to make a move, letting him choose what path to take, leaving him free to change their joined destinies.   
Jean looked so tempting under him, but also so... normal. They had been playing like peasant children would; not as prince and slave, but like the young men they were, as equals. Jean was a prince but above all he was a young man, just like him. A young man with hopes and dreams but also fears and worries. The clarity of this revelation suddenly hit Marco like it never had before, and it made him want that young man even more. His gaze fell not onto the prince's lips, but onto the boy named Jean's lips. Jean's breath caught in his throat and his eyelids fluttered closed, causing Marco to bit his lips at the invitation, his heart pounding hard in his chest, still fearing the consequences of the act Jean was requesting of him, unable to move forward and seal their fate.  
The skies acted for him and the loud neigh of the grey mare accompanied with the impatient stomping of the black stallion broke his moment of hesitation, completely shattering the small bubble of intimacy he had entered with Jean.

“I think we still need to feed them” Marco breathed softly as Jean opened his eyes.

It took few seconds for the prince to nod, albeit reluctantly. Still, he gladly took the hand offered to him to help him get up.  
They fed the horses and put them back into their respective stables in silence before going back to the palace, exhausted and filthy.  
They didn't talk about the water/hay battle and they unconsciously walked farther apart than usual, their racing thoughts and interrogations, full of 'what if's and questions, creating an invisible gap between them. And when they clean up, they did it separately too, Jean not requesting Marco's help to wash his hair and mysteriously disappearing into his personal bathroom for hours.

–--------

Marco didn't sleep very well that night and so, even on the afternoon of the following day, it was still groggily that he followed Jean down the palace's corridors.

They were walking in silence again.

Marco didn't know if he was imagining it or if it was real, but a strange sort of discomfort was still lingering between them, and it pained him for he didn't know what to do about it. He didn't even notice that they had come to a stop, too lost in thoughts to do anything but brainlessly follow Jean around.

“Good afternoon Historia, perfect timing, I actually wanted to see you”

Marco looked up upon hearing Jean's voice and saw that they had indeed ran into Historia and Ymir. He greeted them with a small nod of the head and an apologetic smile for not noticing them sooner.

“Oh really?” Was Historia's soft answer. She looked pleased but a bit surprised. “Is there something you wanted to tell me?” She asked with her usual kind smile.

“Well” The prince started, inexplicably sending quick glances to his slave. Marco gave him a puzzled look, not understanding what Jean's problem was, but before he could say anything, Historia beat him to it. “Is something wrong my prince?”

Jean looked back to her and ran an uncharacteristically nervous hand through his hair before clearing his throat “This is kind of a private conversation I want to have so...” He turned to his slave again with a strangely uncomfortable look. “Marco can you leave us please?”

The words came as a blow to Marco. As far as he remembered, he was never asked to leave by Jean, except for his lessons or sometimes his bath-time, but never when talking to someone; and never that explicitly. He didn't expect Historia to be so close to the prince that he'd want so time alone with her; but then again, he didn't know the nature of her relationship with Jean since she just came back from a two-years long trip a few weeks ago.   
She knew the prince since childhood whereas Marco only knew him for a few months, and yet he had wanted to believe that he was special to Jean, and that he knew things about him that no one else did. He only realized now how wrong he had been; he was just a slave after all and he didn't know Jean that well; didn't know about his life, about his past.  
The sudden request sent him back to his lower position and made him feel out of place, he who was just a shepherd boy, in the presence of these two beautiful people of high-rank and fine lineage.

“As you wish my prince” He stiffly replied with a lump in his throat and bitterness spreading inside him. He bowed slightly to avoid meeting the eyes that were on him and quickly turned away to make his leave. He had no idea where he was going but but he wanted to be out of the suddenly very narrow-feeling palace corridors as fast as possible.

In the distance he heard Historia's voice ask if Ymir had to go too and Jean's answer made tears form at the corner of Marco's eyes, stinging like the bite of a vicious snake.

“No, she can stay.”

–--------

Luckily the slave quarters were empty in the middle of the afternoon, and Marco found refuge there to cry his eyes out. He couldn't contain the tears streaming down his cheeks, or the violent sobs racking his body as every negative though he had in him suddenly hit him with enough force to cut off his breathing. Sitting on the wood plank that once used to be his bed and was now occupied by another faceless random slave, he thought about his family, how much he missed them, how much he needed them right now. He wanted to feel the tender arms of his mother around him, gently rocking him and telling him he would be okay while kissing his forehead. But he could have none of these, and he had no way of knowing if his mother and sister were even still alive. The only thing he had was hope and he hoped with all his heart that they were fine.

He thought about Jean too; about how he wanted to bask in his familiar presence and to feel his skin against his. His sobbing intensified when a traitorous part of him wickedly whispered into his ear that Jean never liked him and that he just interpreted the past months' events to fill in his need for affection. And for a second, Marco believed it.   
He believed that he only imagined the smiles on Jean's face and his lips on his skin; that he convinced himself that Jean was at least a little attracted to him in more than a physical way so it wouldn't hurt so much to live a life of slavery in an unknown and scary land. He even came as far as thinking that the feelings he had for Jean weren't real either, but just a defense reaction his brain used to prevent him from going mad from the sudden change of environment and lifestyle.   
But he soon shook his head, trying to calm down the sudden outburst of misery and grief threatening to break him. He didn't make up those precious memories and loving Jean was probably a mistake but it wasn't an illusion. His mind didn't choose to love the prince (it wouldn't have been a smart decision), but his heart did; he did so much it hurt. And of course he wanted to go home and he was sad because he'd probably never see his family again, but he had to be strong. He had been for months and he had to continue, or else he would end up dying of sorrow.

Marco took a deep shaky breath and wiped his blood-shot eyes. Jean would probably end up marrying Historia, like Bertholdt once said; it was his duty as a prince, to have heirs and make sure the dynasty would survive. It was the normal course of things and he, as a slave, could only try to find the silver linings and make the most of his time with Jean, but also with his new friends: Bertholdt, Reiner and even Eren and Ymir. He had to stop wishing for the impossible; this was the real world and not some kind of good-ending stories like the ones his mother used to tell him at night. He had to be tough and stop acting like a child.  
Besides, he wasn't completely alone and his destiny, although unfair, wasn't the worst one could encounter. There were people suffering far more than him in the vast world, and even not so far away from here, in the quarries. After everything that happened to him, at least he was lucky enough to still be alive.

With his newfound will and courage, Marco slowly recovered from his self-pitying moment and it was determined that he got up, heading out of the slave quarters to try and make himself more presentable before he would eventually see Jean again.

–--------

Despite his resolve, during the following days Marco was less himself than a shadow of his optimistic and brave personality. He had trouble sleeping at night and ended up watching Jean sleep until the sun would rise, egoistically wishing he could share the soft mattress of the prince's bed again.

Jean spent a lot of time with Historia, and when they were together, Marco always excused himself, giving them their privacy even when the sweet blond kindly offered him to stay. 

Jean never once asked him to stay.

Marco wandered like a lost soul in the beautiful gardens of the palace, absentmindedly touching the palm tree leaves as he passed. Even the intoxicating smell of the flowers in full bloom wasn't enough to lighten up his gloomy mood. Historia and Jean had left for a chariot-ride alongside the Nile a few hours ago and without his duty as the prince's personal slave, Marco was bored. He could have gone to palace's library, but he didn't even have the heart to read a book; he who used to love them so much. For the first time in his life he was apathetic to the point of not wanting to do anything but stare into the empty space in hopes the time to go to bed would come quick so he could go to sleep and stop his incessant thinking from tormenting him so much. 

Soon, he came across the small pound and the sight of blue lotuses on the water surface gave his heart a pang. He crouched down to touch one of the flower's pointy petals, feeling melancholy strike him like it never did before. Those were the flowers Jean liked.

“You should harvest a few of these”

Marco jumped and quickly looked up to meet Reiner's golden gaze. The blond slave who was now working in the gardens was watching him from the other side of the pond with a soft expression on his hard features. 

“Tonight is Lychnocaia, the festival of Light, and I think the prince might want to put some of these in his hair for the occasion.” He explained when he saw his friend's lost expression. “He does every year.”

Marco slowly got up, his eyes not leaving Reiner's bulky form. “What's the festival of light?” He curiously asked, his sadness forgotten for a moment as he tried to at least pretend not to be so depressed in front of his friend, weakly forcing a small smile. 

Reiner crossed his arms over his broad chest before he started his explanation. “There are several festivals of light during the year and today we're celebrating the end of the flooding. Harvesting is over and Peret is coming. It's going to get colder and darker so we celebrate the light's departure.” Marco nodded; he already knew that 'Peret' was what Egyptians called winter but he never heard of the light's festival. “We're going to put lights on the Nile to celebrate Isis; the lights are said to help her find her way to her husband Osiris. And it's also an occasion to commemorate and remember the dead.” Reiner continued “There will be a large procession with torches and the priests as well as Pharaoh will be dressed specially for the occasion. The Great Wife used to adorn her hair with lotuses for the festival and the prince took after her, in tribute to her memory.”

Marco looked back to the blue flowers with a twinge. Jean must have loved his mother very dearly. “Thanks for your explanations Reiner” He said with a small this time heartfelt but sad smile as he crouched down again to try and pick up a few of the water flowers.

“You're welcome” Reiner replied, looking down to the brunette with compassion.

A few minutes later, when Marco thought his friend was gone, the blond slave showed up by his side, crouching down next to him with a small “Let me help you” even though he probably had other tasks to finish in the gardens.  
Marco was thankful and didn't miss to tell his friend how much he appreciated his help and silent support.

When the sun started to set on the horizon, it was with an armful of blue sweet-scented water flowers that Marco walked back to the palace, heading straight to the prince's room, hoping with all his heart that Jean would be back.

–--------

When Marco entered the princely bedroom, Jean was already getting dolled up for the night's festivities.

“Marco, there you are!” He exclaimed, visibly annoyed as he turned away from his little mirror. “What were you doin-”

Jean stopped talking the second he spotted the lotuses, dropping his kohl-coated brush to the floor. His tawny eyes were wide and lost when he met his slave's gaze, all exasperation gone. “How did you know? I never told you about Lychnocaia” He whispered, eyes searching brown orbs for an answer.

Marco nervously chewed on his lip before answering. “Let's say I had a secret informant.” He looked down to the flowers in his arms before shyly asking. “Do you not want them?”

Jean ran a hand down his face with an unbelieving chuckle before a soft smile graced his lips, the hardness of his wild eyes seeming to melt. “Of course I want them” He simply replied, getting up to inspect the flowers, very carefully stroking a petal before inhaling the soft fragrance. “Thank you Marco.”

The brunette felt a small blush warm up his cheeks and he nodded. Jean looked up to him again and if he noticed his slave's reddened cheeks, he didn't say anything. “Do you think you could make a crown out of them, it would be easier to wear like this” He requested while turning around and heading back to his dressing table to complete his make-up. 

Marco agreed and immediately set to work, using pieces of string and twisting the flower's stems, entwining them together to make the crown solid. It was a good thing that he was rather skilled when it came to manual work because although he never made a flower crown before, he was quickly done and rather proud of the result.  
By the time the brunette showed the crown to his prince, seeking approval, Jean was done getting dressed.   
His Shendyt was made of the finest linen and was adorned with a large golden belt with an eagle by way of buckle. The details of the spread wings on the bird were extremely refined and its piercing eye was a sapphire stone. On his arm, Marco could see the engraved bracelet that he received from his late mother, a jewel that Jean seemed to particularly cherish, and on his fingers were lapis-lazulis and topaze rings. He wore heavy golden earrings and put blue eyeshadow (probably obtained from powdered minerals), which was an unusual but nice touch, matching the water lilies' color and making his eyes stand out.

Marco couldn't look away and ended up starring as Jean carefully took the flower crown and placed it on top of his head, adjusting it to his convenience before smiling proudly. “How do I look?”

The young slave had no words except 'gorgeous'. “Royal” He finally settled on with a small smile, choosing a less involving word. He had promised himself to know his place from now on.

–--------

By the Nile's edge, it was as easy to see as in broad daylight thanks to the full moon and the thousands of torches lighting up the already clear night. The procession walked slowly, the calm windless night only disturbed by the priests' low sacred chants.

The front of the procession consisted of Pharaoh, his son, and a myriad of courtiers, notably Historia, accompanied by the loyal Ymir.   
Historia had flowers pinned on her long dress beige dress to match Jean's crown while Pharaoh was wearing the _Atef_ , a white crown surmounted with two large ostrich feathers, two spiraled horns, and two uraeus (the snakes representing the cobra goddess Wadjet); a tribute to the gods Osiris and Amun that he wore for special ceremonies only.  
Marco, from his part, wasn't by Jean's side, instead silently walking behind the second part of the procession (which consisted of the priests), alongside Reiner, Bertholdt, Eren and his sister Mikasa. But even from there, Marco could still see Jean's elegant back, the lotus flower crown fitting perfectly on his noble head.

The chants stopped and without a word, Pharaoh and the prince placed the first two small lights, consisting of a flickering flame in a tiny clay saucer full of oil and salt, on the calm waters of the mighty Nile. The slow but steady current of the river gently carried the lights away, and to Jean and his father, it was like seeing the Great Royal Wife's soul floating away, its soft warmth carried away by the inevitable course of nature once again.  
Marco watched in respectful silent, just like the rest of the crowd and closed his eyes in a moment of reverence. When he opened them again, maybe he imagined it, or maybe it was the dim light of the torches but he thought he saw an unusual matching glow in the prince and his father's eyes when they looked at each other, as if there was never any quarrel between them. It was an expression that he knew too well, he who lost a loved-one too. 

Once the twin lights were far away, the crowd started to stir, the priests lightning up saucers for every one of the courtiers and then for the slaves too. There was no discrimination in this ceremony as courtiers and slaves equally scattered across the river bank to send their little lights afloat. Everyone had a right to pay tribute to those who were gone, Pharaoh insisted on it. But, Marco still lowered his gaze under the nasty look the High Priest shot him upon handing him one of the clay saucers.

The young brunette didn't stay by his friends' side, choosing instead to spend this solemn moment by himself. He moved away from the crowd, escaping the lights of the torches until the full moon was the only one to light up the dark waters of the river. The buzzing noise of the others still reached his ears, but Marco left them aside easily. He protectively held the tiny flame close to his chest, not wanting the soft breeze to put it out and looked up to the sky. He remembered how he used to wish upon the shooting stars back home and when he gently put the saucer on the water, he made a wish too.  
He knew too well that wishing to go home soon was foolish and unrealizable, so was wishing that Jean would love him the way he did; besides, it would be selfish, he would never ask of fate to change someone's feelings, and it was impossible anyway. So instead he wished for his mother and sister to be well, healthy and happy, and he wished the same for his new-found slave friends as well as for the prince he came to love so much. He wished with all his heart, praying to whichever god would hear him and be generous enough to answer his prayers. 

“I'm sorry Dad, I couldn't protect Mom and Abby.” He whispered, intently looking at the flame as tears formed at the corner of his eyes. “Please watch over them from where you are...”

“Marco?”

The brunette shut his eyes tight and shook his head. Why now?   
He sighed as the sweet scent of lotuses filled his nostrils, his shoulders falling in defeat.

“Shouldn't you be by your father's side Jean?” He asked, turning his head away so the prince wouldn't see the wetness in his eyes. 

Jean stopped in his tracks a few meters away from his slave, hesitating. 

“I wanted to see you”

Jean's voice was weak and unsure, and mixed with Marco's current sorrow and vulnerability, that was probably what made the brunette snap.

“You want to see me now?” He scoffed, his voice trembling with difficultly contained anger “What is it? Historia doesn't want your company anymore?” 

He didn't know where all his bitterness came from or why he tried to push away the person he most wanted close to him. It didn't even feel good to lash out on Jean like he did; he only ended up hurting himself and the prince more with each poisonous word and he knew it. Still, he wouldn't apologize; how could Jean dare coming to him when he didn't want him around for days?  
Marco wanted to burst into tears at how unfair it was as well as at how disgusted he was by his own behaviour. What happened to his natural kindness? To his forgiveness, his empathy? Did this country rob him of them like it robbed him of his freedom, or did grief and unrequired love smother them?  
Either way, he couldn't hold back the next stabbing words.

“Leave me alone Jean”

Marco's tone was unusually firm and cold, but Jean didn't leave, didn't see red, didn't shout like he usually would, keeping his cool for once. He could see his slave wasn't his usual optimistic self tonight, and he was ready to compensate for it by putting aside his own brashness and short-temper. He was ready to make an effort if it meant he could make the sad expression on his Marco's face disappear, just like the brunette used to chase away his bad dreams with stories about pretty things.

Slowly, he came closer to his withdrawn and fragile slave, gauging his reactions, approaching him carefully, like one would a wounded animal. And when he didn't meet any resistance but a weak wounded whimper, Jean wrapped his arms around Marco's waist, making his slave's breath catch in his throat. He quickly shushed him before he could say a word, instead pressing something into one of his hands with a small “For you.”

Marco finally meet Jean's gaze, wet eyes questioning before they fell onto the strangely familiar form of the object in his hand. It was a necklace, composed of a thin brown string and in the center, for pendant, a pale beige stone that shined brightly under the full moon's light. His eyes widened with shock.

“Where did you find this?” He asked in a strangled voice, barely a whisper.

“It's a gift” Jean said, hiding his blushing face into Marco's shoulder. “I wanted to give you something special, something pretty, meaningful, so I asked Historia to help me.” He muttered against his slave's skin, rubbing his nose against the dark sun induced freckles. “You like it?”

Suddenly, everything clicked together; the time Jean spent with Historia, the worried looks, the distance, the secret conversations... Jean avoided him because he wanted to keep this a surprise.

And what a surprise it was.

Marco couldn't believe his eyes; he must be dreaming, it was impossible to have Jean snuggled up against him like he dreamed of and even more impossible to at the same time hold the moonstone pendant his mother gave him for his birthday in his very hand, when it got snatched away from him at the slave market months ago.

“Jean” He started, his voice trembling as tears started freely pouring down his cheeks. “T-this was a gift from my mother” He said, clutching the pale stone into his palm. “The only thing left from my family that I lost when I was brought here.” His bleary eyes met tawny lost ones. “And you, y-you found it for me”

Strong arms gripped the prince in a bruising hug as Marco engulfed him with a torrent of sobbed “thank you”s. After his initial surprise, Jean's trembling hands hesitantly moved up Marco's back, soothingly stroking his shaking shoulders. 

“Honestly, I didn't know it was once yours.” He said, unable to believe this amazing coincidence. “It just kind of caught my eye and I told myself that this was the perfect present for what I wanted to… convey.” He couldn't be more happy with his choice, given how touched Marco was, although seeing his slave cry still gave him a painful twinge. But he understood how Marco felt, he knew too much of how priceless such a gift could be. He spared a quick glance to the engraved bracelet on his wrist, smiling softly.

Marco cried for a long time, his face buried into the safety of Jean's chest. He cried from grief, from longing, from fear and from sorrow but also from relief and from joy, every single feeling mixing in exhausting waves racking his already tired body. The prince patiently waited for him to let out all his repressed emotions, continuing his gentle caresses on his back as he whispered soothing sweet nothings into his ear.  
When the young slave's body stopped trembling, all the torches were gone; the Nile and the Moon only witnesses of the stars' next move. Marco pulled back slightly so his reddened shining eyes could meet Jean's compassionate gaze. Under the moonlight, the prince's eyes had lost their wild color, looking paler, softer, and to his expression, Marco knew. This time for sure.

It wasn't by chance that Jean came across and bought the necklace, it was fate all along. The moonstone was said to be able to reunite lovers who had quarreled, and its power was supposed to be at its fullest in a full moon. It was clear to him now that it wasn't bad luck that had entwined his destiny with Jean's, they just were meant to be. The boy he was gazing upon, with the sharp features, the amazing eyes and the flower crown; that boy was the one. It had been written in the stars that he would be tormented between love and family, and if he could at least have one, this time he wouldn't let the opportunity slip through his fingers.

It was said if one gave his lover a moonstone necklace when the moon was full, one would always have passion with his significant other. Marco didn't know if Jean was aware of the legend, but he refused to believe it was a simple coincidence that the stone reunited them, and right now he wanted him more than anything. If the prince would have him of course.

“Jean I-” He started, his voice hoarse from his crying.

But he was cut short by the feeling of lips on his. The kiss was bruising, almost painfully so, but Marco was glad, for at least he was sure he wasn't imagining it. But before he could return it, Jean pulled away, nailing his slave into the ground with his sharp wild gaze, leaving him no opportunity to escape as he gripped at his shoulders tightly.

“You listen to me now Marco because I'm not letting you run away this time” 

Jean's voice was incredibly calm and determination shone into his eyes.

“This stone is meant to be exchanged between lovers” He explained, swiftly taking the rough hand that was still gripping the necklace in his slender one. “And when I saw it I thought of you”

Marco was frozen on the spot, still recovering from the shock of the kiss. This could not be happening. Jean couldn't possibly mean what he just said.

“I've never felt this way towards anybody before you, _ever_.” The blond continued, his eyes never leaving Marco's brown orbs, and his fingers desperately gripping his slave's hand. “So I don't know much about this and I don't know if I can tell for sure but-” He bit his lip for a second before he dealt the fatal blow. “I think I'm in love with you”  
Marco's lips slightly parted but there were no words left in his swirling mind. His head was spinning and he feared he would pass out from the shock. Jean couldn't possibly love him too; it was the most impossible of dreams, or the sweetest nightmare and he was probably going to wake up anytime now.

Jean took his slave's lack of response negatively, fearing his shock was disgust, and he started to panic, his insecurities showing up, swallowing his previous confidence whole as words flowed out of his mouth uncontrollably and tears started forming at the corner of his eyes.

“I know I'm not allowed to burden you with my feelings because you have no choice but to stay with me, and you're probably just being kind because it's in your nature and you pity my idiot and selfish self. But I couldn't keep it in anymore, not when you were always there for me, not when you smiled to me like you did.” How much he would give to see those radiant smiles again. “I'm sorry Marco, I know I hurt you many times and you don't want to be here, and you're probably fed up with me because I'm such an egoist, but please, please don't leave me”

Marco couldn't stand Jean's distress, couldn't let him continue belittling himself and denying how much his slave cared for him. The prince's last request spurred him into doing something to stop him from hurting the both of them more. 

The kiss he initiated was gentler, softer, but just as heartfelt. “I won't leave you Jean I promise” He whispered against the prince's lips. “I love you too, so much, you can't imagine”

It was like a huge weight he didn't know was there had been lifted off Marco's chest and he kissed Jean harder, trying to convince him of his feelings. But Jean didn't need so much to understand and upon hearing the brunette's words, he let out a soft whimper of relief and pressed his body closer, kissing Marco like the world was ending. 

At some point, they had to pull away to breathe, but neither of them opened their eyes as they rested their foreheads against each other, their heavy breaths mingling between their mouths. “I don't deserve someone like you” Jean whispered, unable to keep his lips away, peppering Marco's cheek with small kisses. The brunette opened his eyes and gently cupped his prince's cheek, thumb slowly stroking his high cheekbones. “You deserve the world Jean, don't let anyone tell you otherwise”

All the joy, pride, relief and love he felt when Jean looked at him threatened to make Marco's chest burst, his heart aching with longing. “I can't believe I was lucky enough to meet such a perfect being.” The prince chuckled although still with teary eyes. He didn't leave Marco any time to protest that he was far from perfect and caught his lips again.

Jean's lips were soft and Marco felt excitement bubble in his chest as well as heat rush to his cheeks when he realized that it was his first kiss (or more like first kisses). And he wouldn't have wanted it any other way, or with anyone else.  
Kissing Jean felt amazing and mind-blowing and although he was inexperienced, with Jean's guidance, Marco quickly got the hang of it. He had always been a fast learner after all and Jean a good teacher. Soon, the prince let out an appreciative hum against his lips, making Marco shiver.  
There were no regrets for not daring to confess or act sooner, just happiness and relief to know that both their feelings were mutual and to finally be able to be this close to each other. 

When Jean pulled away, he lost no time in hugging Marco tightly against him, like he feared he might just vanish in the warm night's air. The brunette didn't hesitate before gently running his fingers through Jean's ashen blond hair, careful to not damage the flower crown, a gesture that he didn't realize missing so much. 

“We should head back, it's getting late” Jean whispered although he didn't detach himself from his slave just yet. But he was right, the Nile was quite far away from the palace and it could be dangerous at night. Besides, he didn't know for how long they stayed out here alone, but Pharaoh would probably get worried if no guard saw the prince come back soon.  
The brunette nodded, leaving one last kiss on his prince's temple before stepping away. He suddenly felt a bit cold without Jean's chest flush against him. But his lips still curled up in a genuine smile, for the first time in days. It felt amazing, especially when Jean softly returned it.

With their heads in the clouds, they walked back to the palace, holding hands in silence but with pretty pink cheeks, exchanging tender looks, shy smiles, and gentle brushes of shoulders.

–--------

In the princely bedroom, Kiya was sprawled onto her cushion and lazily opened a tawny eye to check out on the two humans enterring in a hurry. Putting a huge paw in front of her head, she went back to sleep, completely uninterested in Jean and Marco's barely hushed ruckus.

The door hardly closed that Jean's lips were on Marco's again, hot and demanding and the young brunette didn't really know how to handle this sudden feverish attack. After they arrived back to the palace (making sure to inform several guards that the prince wasn't lost and dying somewhere outside), Marco expected to cuddle with Jean in bed until they fell asleep, just like they kind of used to. But his naive innocent self underestimated Jean's eagerness. 

It was true that they had waited a long time to finally be able to touch like this, but Marco felt no rush; they had all the time now to discover each others body. However Jean didn't seem to feel the same way about it. He was pressing his body hard against Marco, visibly craving for more contact, more touches as he kissed him deeper, daringly slipping his tongue between his slave's lips, earning himself a groan from Marco.

It was far from unpleasant for Marco to see Jean so desperate to be close to him and he quickly lost himself into the hungry kiss, trying to keep up with Jean's rhythm. His head was spinning and it was like Jean's hands were everywhere on his heated skin, exploring, roaming, every touch fueling the fire igniting under his skin. The poor slave didn't even know where to put his own hands.

Marco had to pull away to breathe, his chest heaving and his cheeks crimson from the intense kissing as well as from the embarrassment of already feeling a bit too tight in his underwear from just kisses and touches.  
In front of him, Jean wasn't hesitating or shy and the way he looked at him like he wanted to just devour him made Marco gulp.  
Mesmerized by incandescent tawny eyes, the brunette let himself be guided backwards by the paler hands on his hips, until one of those hands pushed down onto his shoulder to make him sit on the edge of the princely bed. His eyes didn't leave Jean as the blond crouched down between his knees. He was getting excited too quickly for his own good, his brain threatening to fry under the fire in Jean's eyes.

“Jean” He half whined, half begged, unable to put words on what he wanted since he didn't even know whether he needed to stop or to continue. 

A finger quickly came to shush him before it was soon replaced by soft lips. This kiss was slower, more tender but just as passionate. Still, it was enough to reassure Marco that Jean wasn't acting on impulse and wasn't only trying to evacuate his steamy pent-up energy. The young slave gradually relaxed, still shivering slightly when he felt Jean's hands gently run down his thighs.

“Marco, I made you my slave thinking I'd be able to make you bend under my will and make you mine for a few fleeting nights.” The prince confessed, his expression serious despite his flushed lips and slightly disheveled hair.   
Marco tried not to focus on those tempting lips too much; even in his dizzy state, he could still tell this conversation was important to Jean.  
“But in the end your kindness and your patience got the better of my stubbornness, and without noticing it, I was the one who became enslaved to your presence, to your words, to your touches...” The prince trailed off with a sigh, eyes staring into space.   
He dropped his hands to his sides and moved to a kneeling position, looking up to meet brown eyes.

“I'm on my knees for you like I never was in front of anyone else.”

He took Marco's hands in his, gently stroking them with his thumbs. “And even though I hurt you countless times, willingly or not, will you still stay by my side? Will you still... have me?” He asked as he kissed his slave's hands apologetically, eyes searching brown orbs, full of hope as well as expectation.

The softest of smiles graced Marco's lips and his eyes watered again as he freed his hands to gently cup Jean's cheeks, emotion overflowing from his body. “Jean you don't have to go to such an extent” He whispered, tenderly kissing Jean's forehead. “I love you and I don't resent you for any of your actions. We all make mistakes and I should also apologize, I probably made you suffer a lot too” 

“You're unbelievable” The prince softly chuckled after a second of daze, nuzzling into his slave's warm palm like a big cat would.

When Jean opened his eyes again, the fire was back and Marco knew that he was done talking for now. Chewing on his lower lip, the young slave put his hands back onto the bed, his mind slightly alarmed by the apprehension of the unknown, but his body already feeling too hot and craving for contact. And all that just from Jean's gaze.

“I know I'm not so good with words or expressing myself...” The prince started, eyes locked on Marco as he took hold of one of his slave's foot. “But I still want to show you how grateful I am for all you did for me since the beginning.” Marco automatically let Jean lift his leg and he gasped, strange new sparks coursing through his body as he watched Jean slowly bring his ankle to his lips and softly kiss it. “So instead, let me just _show you_ how much you mean to me”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now kiss XD
> 
> More seriously, I couldn't leave you on a sad note because there's an awful lot of crying in this chapter... But couldn't help but end on a slight cliffhanger, sorry. But to make up for it, expect the rating to go up on the next chapter *wink**wink*
> 
> I always love to hear what you think and if you could tell me how you found this chapter, I'd really appreciate it : Was the pacing alright? Didn't the romance seem too forced (I hope the building wasn't too fast)? Are you happy for Jean and Marco? Were you expecting this? Who did you think would confess first? 
> 
> Okay, I'll stop with the questions, but since I wrote everything, the events seem obvious to me so I'd like your external opinion.
> 
> Now that I'm done with finals, expect chapters every two to three weeks again.
> 
> See you next time for the sexy time ;)


	12. Surrendering to Bes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter that I actually had to cut in two because there was a pacing problem in my opinion. 
> 
> I'd like to thank every one who commented on the last chapter, really, you guys are amazing, there was so much positive feedback, I couldn't believe it!!  
> I take all your remarks in consideration and they really helped me when I wasn't so confident about what I was doind anymore, so thank you! :)
> 
> This chapter is basically smut (you probably noticed the rating change), you're warned. Besides, there is not much chronological progress. But, there is still some important character insight and developpement so it's not just smut (or at least I hope I gave that vibe...)  
> Reading the little one shot I wrote about Eren and Jean's relationship in the AU might be interesting to see how differently he behaves with Marco. The link is [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4028764).
> 
> Also, tumblr [mybrotherthinksiminsane](http://mybrotherthinksiminsane.tumblr.com/) made an amazing drawing of the scene in chapter 11 with gorgeous details on all so [check it out](http://mybrotherthinksiminsane.tumblr.com/post/122513540705/so-yeah-the-last-chapter-of)!
> 
> That's all I had to say for now, enjoy the chapter!^^

The symbolism of having the prince of Egypt on his knees in front of him was enough to leave Marco dizzy.  
His leg was now trembling with each new kiss Jean placed on his heated skin. Tawny eyes were watching him, burning and intense as Jean's lips slowly traveled from his ankle to his shin, then under his knee, almost tickling the thin skin there. Said knee was placed on the prince's shoulder and Marco let out a small surprised sound, wondering what Jean was up to.  
But his foggy brain couldn't concentrate on thinking about it too much, for he was soon distracted by a pair of soft hands running up and down his thighs. 

“J-Jean” He breathed, as if asking for reassurance as to what was about to happen next.

The prince stayed silent and the next kiss was placed on the inside of his thigh, just where his Shendyt stopped, making Marco's breath catch in his throat. His thighs were starting to shake and he closed his eyes.  
The hands on his thighs stopped and his leg was put down on the floor.

“Do you not like this?” Came Jean's hesitant voice.

Marco's bleary eyes slowly blinked open and fell onto Jean's frowning face, tawny eyes searching his. It was a rare expression to see on the prince; he who always seemed so sure and confident. The young slave wondered which one of his reactions gave the prince that impression. Because he was very far from hating the way Jean touched him. He craved that contact for weeks now, and the fire it lit up under his skin was everything but unpleasant.

“No, I like it” He answered with a soft smile, feeling his cheeks heat up.

Jean seemed to ponder that answer, not totally convinced. His hands resumed stroking Marco's strong thighs but his touch was lighter, more careful and he frowned.

“But you're shaking” He stated, intently looking at the muscles twitching under his fingers.

Marco looked away, his blush darkening. “It's because it feels really intense... your hands, your lips...” He confessed, sparing a quick glance at Jean. “Nobody's ever touched me like this”

Jean's eyes widened as he understood exactly what his slave was telling him. “Oh” He whispered, his cheeks reddening as he looked down and bit his lips. There was a strange expression on the prince's face at that moment. Regret? Apprehension? Hesitation? Marco wasn't sure, but when he was about to reach out and cup Jean's cheek to reassure him he was fine and that he wanted to be with him now; Jean looked up.

“And are you fine with me touching you like this?” He asked, his eyes searching and his stance showing he was ready to back away anytime.

Warmth threatened to make Marco's chest burst at this ask for consent. And also another kind of warmth from hearing Jean talk about touching him.  
He nodded, placing his hands over Jean's on his own thighs. “I've kind of wanted you touching me more recently...” He honestly answered, thumbs stroking the top of Jean's hands. “But I have to admit I imagined you closer to me, and not on your knees like you need to apologize for something...”

Jean looked away, still chewing on his bottom lip, and it was like the fire that consumed him and urged him to put his hands everywhere on Marco had slightly receded. 

“I don't want to force you to do anything, but I've wanted you for so long...” He said while tenderly rubbing his cheek against Marco's knee. “And now that you said you loved me too, I can't help it, I want to touch you so much, Marco please”

A shiver ran down Marco's spine at Jean's words. The feeling of being wanted added to his own need to explore Jean's body, to memorize everything that made him who he was, made sparks of electricity course through his veins. He got up and pulled Jean up with him by his hands, his smile warm and soft despite his slight apprehension of what was to come. “I want to touch you too, and I trust you Jean” He said, placing a soft kiss on the prince's lips “And if something feels wrong, I'll definitely tell you”

Putting his apprehension aside, Marco guided the prince with him on the bed and lied down on his back, opening his arms invitingly. He had never been intimate with someone, but he had already held Jean in his arms until he fell asleep, and he knew that was something they both enjoyed and were comfortable with. So he decided to start with that reassuring and familiar position, and see how things evolved. 

Jean quickly got the hint and let himself fall into his slave's embrace with a smile almost too soft for his sharp features, resting his head on Marco's shoulder. He then carefully let his hand wander to Marco's waist, checking for Marco's approval with questioning tawny eyes. When his slave smiled, Jean relaxed, his fingers absentmindedly drawing circular patterns on dark freckled skin.  
Marco pressed their chests closer, his arm encircling Jean's shoulder while his hand started playing with the prince's hair, and he relieved in the soft sigh he got as an answer. The brunette's fingers brushed against the soft petals of the lotuses on Jean's flower crown, and his eyes widened in slight surprise. He gently removed the blue crown before shifting to set it aside on the small bedside table. But before he could, Jean immobilized him with a puzzled look.

“It's so pretty, I wouldn't want the flowers to be crushed” He explained his gesture.

“Why bother?” Jean asked against Marco's neck, his breath warm over his slave's skin. “They'll be faded tomorrow anyway...”

Marco frowned at this unexpected pessimistic answer. 

“It's not a reason to treat them badly” He replied, putting the crown down between them “They would just wilt faster, wouldn't they?”

Jean seemed unconvinced, so Marco continued. “Would you make someone suffer and just say it's fine because they're going to die one day anyway?”

Marco knew he was probably going too far with the analogy. He risked making Jean withdraw on himself just when fate finally brought them together. But even so, things were still the same as before; he needed to open Jean's eyes on treating every living thing with care, no matter how small or fleeting. 

“You're overreacting, they're just flowers.” The prince scoffed at him, pulling away almost imperceptibly, as expected. But there was a bitterness in his answer that hid something more personal; like a deep wound that had yet to scar. 

Marco nervously licked his lips, unsure of what to say next. Jean was already starting to slip between his fingers. He was there physically, but as his mood darkened, he was getting away. Maybe Marco should have let this slide, for he was on the way to ruin the magic of the nigt. But he wanted Jean to let out what bothered him. 

“But... you like those flowers?” He tried.

A sharp inhale and then a heavy silence.

Marco was starting to worry that he completely lost the connection with Jean when the prince finally answered, eyes staring into space as his fingers gently stroked the crumpled blue petals.

“They remind me of my mother, she loved them, I remember she smelled like them” He sighed, shutting his eyes tightly as to contain the sudden burst of emotion within him. “But like those flowers, she faded away too soon. It's probably the fate of every beautiful thing in this world...”

Jean's sudden melancholy made Marco's heart ache. He didn't know what to do to cheer him up, and even if he did, he knew it would be no easy task. The sorrow from the loss of a loved one wasn't something easily erased, and sometimes, it was probably better to just be there, to listen, with empathy and compassion, to show support, instead of trying to change the subject because it was unpleasant and hurtful.

“I remember now, how she often told me: _'Jean, you're special, you are destined for greatness, for one day you will become Pharaoh, the morning and evening star, a being above the rest of mankind, blessed by the gods'_ ''' Jean shook his head, opening teary eyes. “I only listened to that part of course, greedily feeding on her praise, on her pride, but then, she would talk like you just did, and I always missed that important part... She said: _'But Jean, it doesn't mean you should treat others badly. Each life is unique and precious, whether plant, animal or human. And remember, my beautiful boy, to never inflict someone a treatment you wouldn't like..._ ”

The prince chuckled, making Marco's eyes widen. Jean was shaking his again head as if in disbelief at his own foolishness. “I always ignored that second part when it was the most valuable of lessons she was trying to teach me...” He whispered, voice strangled, and Marco was ready to move closer, every inch of his skin itching to take Jean in his arms. But the brunette let him continue when determined tawny eyes met his. “I won't make the same mistake twice, and now, I will accept this lesson coming from you, Marco, and try to stick to it as best as I can”

Jean took Marco's hands in his, his grip strong with resolve. “I'm sorry I hurt you so much Marco. I understand it goes for other slaves and people too, but for now, let me at least apologize to you”

Marco answered with the softest of smiles, easing the tension in Jean's hands with gentle strokes of his thumbs. “I accept your apologize” He simply answered, and Jean's eyes lit up. It was enough. It was what the prince wanted to hear.

Marco would never forget the hurt knowing Jean caused him more than once, consciously or not, but he was glad Jean was aware of it, and made enough progress with his pride and temper to even apologize for it.  
The next step, not only apologizing afterwards, but avoiding hurting people in the first place, would probably be harder to take, but for now, it was enough, and Marco was proud of Jean. The brunette was sure it was something the prince always had in him; a sensibility and a magnanimity that only true kings possessed. But they were buried deep inside, covered by layers of dirt such as empty praises and high expectations.  
Jean was a free spirit, sharp and creative, and he could never bloom fully being only surrounded by masquerades and falseness. But if he was given the opportunity to fully spread the magnificent wings Marco had the chance catch glimpses of, he would without a doubt rise as high as his mother predicted, if not higher.

“Thank you Marco” Jean whispered, pressing his forehead against his slave's. “You're really something, and I'm glad I had the chance to meet you” He placed a chaste kiss on the brunette's lips, so far away from the heated lip-locking he demanded when they entered the bedroom.

Marco smiled and he took Jean in his arms again, like he did so many times before. But now it felt righter than ever. The barriers of uncertainty and aching were gone, and the meaning of the gesture was now well known of both boys, leaving their stomachs bubbling with joy.

They fell back into their comfort zone, and for long minutes, they were satisfied with exploring the skin at hand with curious caresses and shy fingers, enjoying the feeling of being close to each other. They even shared a few slow kisses, learning the taste of the other, lips exploring the respective shapes of their cheeks, nose, jaws...  
There were no more talks about passed away mothers or hurting ignorance; there was only the happiness of being together, enjoying a moment that was so wanted it might as well be a dream, so much it was unbelievable.  
They were out of time, in a little bubble consisting of only each other. No princes, no slaves, no responsibilities, no past, no future, just the long awaited present of two young boys in love.

It was Jean of course who asked for more first, in the form of a quick but more demanding kiss on Marco's lips. He was more daring, more impatient too, and mostly, he knew that with a little more, everything would feel even better; especially with Marco, for whom he felt something he never felt before. But to his credit, he started slow and gentle, not pressuring his slave when he was obviously impatient. 

Marco gladly accepted the kiss, relieving in the feeling of Jean's lips on his and blushing as he remembered the words Jean whispered to him before they kissed under the moonlight. 

_I think I'm in love with you_

Jean smiled against his slave's lips when he kissed back, and deepened the kiss, soon nibbling and sucking on Marco's lips like they were his new favourite treat.  
Marco hummed into the heating kiss. He never expected kissing to feel so good. Jean's lips were so soft and the warmth coursing through him was traitorously starting to pool between his legs again. He kissed back with more fervor, his fingers still playing with Jean's hair, as if to ground himself. He was new to all of this, but the more Jean touched him, the more going further became more tempting than intimidating.

Jean's touch on Marco's waist became more possessive as his hand traveled down to Marco's hip, stroking the sharp hipbone barely hidden by Marco's shendyt. He pulled away from the kiss so they could catch their breath, but soon latched onto Marco's cheek, then his jaw, before trailing kisses down Marco's neck. It was like he needed to put his lips and hands everywhere on his slave.  
Marco's breath quickened with every new kiss, and he closed his eyes. The attention on his neck was tickling but made him shiver so much it felt right. 

It felt so right. He wanted this.

His grip on Jean's hair tightened, unconsciously urging the prince to keep working on his sensitive neck. Jean gave an appreciative hum and obliged, kissing and licking at Marco's Adam apple before he moved down to his collarbones.  
He bit slightly down on the sensitive flesh, not wanting to leave a mark and it had Marco gasp and involuntary pull at Jean's hair, causing the prince to hiss in pleasure. Encouraged by Marco's positive reactions, Jean daringly ran a hand up Marco's chest to tease at one nipple, rubbing and circling it. The reaction he got was more than he expected as Marco let out a strangled moan and his hips bucked forward.

The young slave alarmingly opened his eyes at the noise he just made, clasping a hand over his mouth as his cheeks burned with embarrassment. He didn't understand how having his nipples touched felt so good and he felt so strange; like he wanted Jean to stop teasing him, but give him more of these sparkling feelings at the same time. It was a whole new world of sensations he was discovering, and the intensity of it made his head spin. 

Jean shifted to kiss Marco's hand before gently removing it from Marco's mouth, his eyes intense and filled with lust. “Don't silence yourself, you sound too good” He breathed, kissing at Marco's knuckles. 

Marco whimpered at the sweet words and attention. He moved his hand away and he docilely let Jean push him onto his back, trusting him and his experience to lead the way.  
The prince stood above him on his hands and knees and surprisingly, the brunette didn't feel oppressed or trapped in this position; he even would have wanted Jean much closer but Jean's thumb slowly rubbing his nipple again stopped his train of thoughts and made him groan.

“You like that?” The prince asked with a smirk.

Marco feverishly nodded. He couldn't get enough of Jean's hands on him, spoiling him with hot caresses and lips. Jean chuckled at his enthusiasm and kissed his way up from his slave's cheek to his ear. “Then I think you'll like this even more” He hotly whispered, sending waves of arousal through Marco's body.

The young slave's back arched tightly and he moaned when soft lips soon replaced Jean's thumb on his nipple. He was getting lost into Jean's touches, his hips twitching aimlessly with every new attention Jean's lips or hands laved onto his chest. It was like the prince already knew how to push all his buttons to turn him into a trembling mess. 

“By the gods Marco, you're so sensitive” Jean breathed against his slave's chest, looking up to him with burning eyes, devouring Marco's abandoned expression. The prince let one hand travel down Marco's stomach to caress the skin at the edge of his slave's shendyt. “Can I take this off?”

Marco bit his lip with apprehension and need. He took a moment to calm his laboured breathing and gather his scattered thoughts. Jean waited, trying to be patient, although the way he was playing with the hem of Marco's shendyt betrayed his want.  
His slave looked so good under him, sprawled onto his sheets, blushing down to his chest and looking positively ravishing. He wanted this for so long, dreamed of it, imagined it, but if Marco wasn't as eager as him, it wouldn't be as enjoyable as he imagined. Honestly, the view he had now as well as the warmth coiling down his stomach and pulsing through his veins were much better than every one of his wildest fantasies. 

Marco finally nodded before snaking his arms around Jean's neck and bringing him down for a kiss, courageously taking initiative for once. Jean kissed back with fervor, purring between their lips, and the brunette poured every feeling of need and longing he had in the kiss, completely losing himself into it, so much he didn't notice Jean had swiftly removed his wrapped-around skirt. However, he gasped loudly, eyes shutting tightly and back almost painfully arching off the bed when he felt Jean's warm palm brush against his need through his underwear.

“Jean!” He moaned, his hips snapping up to rut against that pleasuring warmth. It was completely different from when he touched himself and his body was mindlessly giving in to the new electric sensations Jean was bringing him.

Jean wasn't unaffected by his slave's low voice calling his name, and he growled, possessively biting the spot just under Marco's earlobe. “I'm going to make you feel so good Marco” He whispered in his slave's ear while stroking him through his underwear, coaxing more sweet sounds from his lips. “Going to show you you're the only one that matters”.  
With one last dirty kiss on Marco's lips, Jean went back to kissing down his slave's neck, then his chest, traveling lower and lower, until he was burying his nose in the dark curls of Marco's lower stomach.  
The kisses soon flirted with the hem of his underwear and Marco was turning delirious. To have Jean's lips so close to his need while the prince's hand was sending sparks of arousal through him with every calculated movement... It was almost too much for someone as inexperienced as him. He was incredibly hard already, his arousal tenting his underwear, a large wet spot of precome staining the front from Jean's ministrations. But he still wanted more, and he trusted Jean to release the tension building up inside him without tormenting him too much.

It was like the prince could hear his slave's internal screaming for more. Noticing the way Marco's hips kept rutting against his hand, Jean removed it, owning himself a small disappointed whine. But he lost no time in removing Marco's underwear after that, making his slave hiss when his erection sprang free.  
Immediately, Marco closed his legs, trying to hide himself, the sudden exposure making him feel shy. No-one ever saw him so vulnerable and although this was what he asked for, there was a lingering fear inside him that he wouldn't be good enough, absurdly scared that Jean would mock him.

Jean looked up to Marco, reading his slave's body language as best as he could; his bitten lips, his clenched fists and his trembling thighs. He never was somebody's first, and the last thing he wanted was to traumatize Marco. He was used to roughness and haste when it came to sex, but right now, as much as he wanted to quicken the pace and relieve the pressure of his clothing on his own painfully hard cock, he most wanted Marco to feel at ease, and to feel good. So he tried his best to keep his cool and not let his need make him do something he would regret later. 

His hands, trembling with restraint, gently stroked his slave's thighs, coaxing him into relaxing while he trailed soft kisses on his hips and stomach.  
Marco wasn't looking at him, his head turned, face buried into a pillow, small groans escaping him from time to time. Honestly, it was starting to worry Jean who felt clueless as to what to do.  
He stopped his hands and lips to crawl back over his slave, concerned.

“Marco?”

He was answered with a shaky whimper but Marco finally deigned open his eyes. His pupils were blown, making his gaze almost completely dark, his lips flushed and bitten, and the sight sent a pleasant shiver of arousal and pride down Jean's spine. He looked so tempting.  
Marco caught Jean's lips and the prince groaned at how needy the kiss was. Marco was a fast learner, he thought; when he felt his slave's tongue slip between his lips, and for a second, he felt a weird sort of pride for turning Marco on so much.

“Couldn't watch” Marco breathed into the kiss. “Was too much seeing your face s-so close down t-there” He moaned at the bare thought of it. “Was going to-” He stopped, too embarrassed to say the right word. “too quick” He just said, trusting Jean would get what he meant. 

New sparks of arousal ignited in Jean and his blood pounded into his veins at Marco's words. He growled, sucking on Marco's lower lip. “But you like the idea of me going down on you?” He asked, making sure his slave was okay with what he planned.  
Marco nodded, in case the deep moan escaping him wasn't enough confirmation. Jean planted one last kiss on his slave's lips before crawling down again. 

“Don't worry about coming too quick, I won't judge you” Jean reassured once he was settled on his stomach between Marco's legs again. Looking up, he met the brown half lidded gaze with a naughty smirk. “Makes me proud to know how much I get to you”

Marco hummed and gripped the sheets into his clenched fists again when Jean started kissing his inner thigh. He gradually relaxed under Jean's kissing, and he slowly opened his legs, revealing his leaking arousal. 

Jean licked his lips. His slave was nicely endowed.

The prince resisted the urge to get down to business right away, for it would probably bring Marco over the edge too quickly, and he wanted things to last, to make Marco squirm under him and tell him how good he was making him feel. Instead, he took his slave's arousal in hand and gave it a tentative stroke, glancing up to Marco to check his reactions.  
Marco's breath caught in his throat, and his hips twitched encouragingly, so Jean tightened his hold and gave a few more strokes. He watched Marco turn brainless under his ministration, his chest heaving and his cock dripping precome onto his fingers. Jean couldn't wait anymore, needing to taste that clear liquid, that he probably would have found gross were it anyone else under him. He usually didn't like things getting messy, but seeing Marco so undone under him only served to excite him more.  
He gave a small kiss to Marco's leaking tip, owning himself a shaky groan and a plead of his name. Encouraged by the small sweet sounds coming from his slave, Jean licked up his shaft before tentatively circling his tongue around the head.

Marco was delirious. His hips were bucking forward, trying to get more of Jean's lips on him. His cock was so sensitive and every little pressure on it made sparks of pleasure course through his every vein, his every muscle, fogging his brain and burning his skin.  
Jean pushed his slave's hips down with one hand, keeping him still, and Marco whined. But the whine soon let place to a shaky moan when Jean's soft lips wrapped around the head of his arousal and sucked. 

The heat of Jean's mouth was too good, too intensely hot, and Marco had to bit his lips until he bled to contain the embarrassingly loud noises of pleasure Jean's every sucking motion spurred from him. It felt so good, so hot and wet down there, and the sounds Jean's mouth was making were so obscene, Marco had to close his eyes, unable to hold Jean's heated gaze on him. He couldn't bare the sight of Jean's thin lips stretched around him, his hair disheveled, and his tawny eyes burning, without risking to go insane.  
His lip biting wasn't enough to contain the growing sounds he was making, and he almost screamed Jean's name when the prince started bobbing his head up and down his hardness. He quickly bit down onto one fist to silence himself, glad Jean was holding his hips down, because he couldn't hold back their uncontrollable bucking.

He never imagined something like this, so filthy, could feel so good. He feared he would faint with every new move of Jean's mouth, every time he licked the tip or hollowed his cheeks to make things tighter and hotter. 

Marco wanted to tell Jean to stop because he was getting so close.  
What about the prince's own pleasure? He didn't have to do that for him, didn't have to be the one giving while Marco was the only one receiving. He wanted to tell Jean all these things, but all he managed were muffled moans as he trembled under Jean.  
He was close, but he wanted more, and as his mind wanted to please Jean too, his body was selfishly searching for release, seeking more and more of Jean's hot mouth.

Jean looked up to Marco's shaking form, taking in his disheveled hair, his heavy breathing and his flushed lips. He pulled away with one last swipe of his tongue, and gently used one hand to remove Marco's fist from his mouth while the other soothingly stroked his thigh. 

“I want to hear you Marco” He breathed, voice horse from his previous activity, sending another spark of arousal through his slave's tensed body. “Sound amazing when I'm making you feel good”

Marco whimpered, entwining his fingers with Jean's. “What about you? I feel bad being the only one...” He trailed off, his blush darkened, swallowing his freckles in its trail.

“I'm good with hearing you enjoy yourself for now” Jean answered with a smirk, leaving a grossly wet kiss on Marco's cheek. The brunette didn't expect his lover to be this selfless and caring in bed, and it was a nice, reassuring surprise. But although he didn't know how, he still wanted to return the favor as soon as possible.

“Want me to continue?” Jean asked, taking Marco's length in hand once again and stroking to a languid pace.

That offer sounded incredibly tempting in Marco's ears, and the hand on his arousal made him forget about returning the favor for now; it was too distracting.

“I love you” Was all Marco could reply to show his affection, his agreement and his need for Jean.

Jean was a bit taken aback, his eyes widening. He wasn't yet used to those three words, but this night felt just like a dream really.  
He smiled genuinely, lighting up his whole face. “I love you too” 

His eyes were soft when he leaned down again, keeping Marco's hand in his as he positioned himself back between Marco's thighs. But this time, under Marco's curious but lustful gaze, he put those strong thighs over his shoulders so he could have better access to Marco's need.

“Going to make this a night to remember” The prince breathed before eagerly wrapping his lips around Marco again.

He used his free hand to restrain the jerky movements of Marco's hips and diligently bobbed his head to a quick rhythm, making his slave see stars. Marco's sounds now flew freely from his parted lips, and they sent heat pooling down Jean's stomach, his own cock so aroused it was leaking; soaking through his underwear, and even forming a wet spot on his expensive shendyt. 

While working on making Marco scream for him, the prince tentatively grounded his hips down, rubbing his clothed arousal onto the sheets. The movement relieved some of the accumulated pressure inside him and he let out a deep moan, muffled by Marco's cock. The vibration it caused made Marco mewl in pleasure, his back arching of the bed, eyes wide and pupils blown.  
Jean hummed at the reaction and continued rutting his hips against the bed while sucking Marco's cock with more fervor, his pace insane.  
Marco's nails dug into Jean's palm and his whole body was tense with raw pleasure. He kept moaning and whimpering incoherent praises of how good Jean felt, how much he loved him and how hot his mouth was. As he was brought closer and closer to his release, he wrapped his thighs tighter around Jean's neck, trying to bring him closer, to have him take him deeper.

Marco's brain was fried from the intense pleasure Jean was giving him, and for him right now, there was nothing but Jean; Jean's warmth around him, how good he made him feel. The world around him didn't exist anymore as he curled into himself, thinking only about finding release and nothing else.  
He was shaking badly, but it still didn't prevent his strong thighs from keeping a death grip on Jean's shoulders. He couldn't help it, couldn't control his writhing and squirming body under the waves of pleasure consuming him. He was feeling too hot, and was almost hyperventilating as he kept breathing Jean's name through glistening parted lips.

Marco's thighs were squeezing Jean's head so tightly that, paired up with the thick cock in his mouth, the prince had difficulty breathing. His head was spinning from the lack of air as well as the pleasure caused by Marco's voice and his thrusting on the bed. But strangely, it made every sensation even more intense; he never expected being constrained like this to feel so arousing. He gasped for air, a needy moan escaping him as he released Marco's cock for a second, taking a deep breath before going down on his slave again. 

This time he did his best to take Marco's whole member, burying his nose in the dark curls of Marco's lower stomach. Marco gripped Jean's hand so tight he might be crushing his bones and his words became an incoherent jumbling nonsense of Jean's name and praises. The brunette's hips gave one last agonizing thrust into Jean's mouth, making him moan when he felt the tip of Marco's length hit the back of his throat. The vibrations was what made it, and Marco's back arched tight from the bed, pleasure engulfing him, drowning him, as he came down Jean's throat with a shaky breathless gasp, unable to hold it back or to form a coherent sentence to warn his lover.

Jean slackened his jaw, accepting the warmth in his mouth, something unusual for he who was more used to receiving than giving. But he found out that pleasuring Marco excited and pleased him more than anything he ever experienced, a strange feeling of warmth spreading through his chest. However, he wasn't used to giving someone this kind of treatment and he soon gagged around his mouthful, forcing him to pull back and take a deep breath. He opened his eyes and was met with the sight of bliss on Marco's face.  
His slave's lips were flushed red and his eyes squeezed shut, a dark blush drowning his freckles, small whimpers escaping him as his muscles started to relax. Amongst those whimpers, he could hear his name and the sound of his lover's beautifully broken voice made his member twitch inside his underwear. He never felt so enraptured before, so much that he didn't mind the last stray drops of Marco's release soiling his chin. He let one shaky hand wander under his shendyt to stoke his twitching member through his underwear, desperate to release the tension coiling hot in his lower body. He nuzzled his face against the inside of Marco's thigh, still on his shoulder, and soon he was coming too, whimpering Marco's name as he possessively bit down the inside of his slave's strong thighs.

Marco barely felt Jean's teeth on his skin.  
He was floating, his body numb, his ears buzzing and his head spinning. Waves of liquid pleasure were still gently lapping at his overstimulated nerves and remaining sparks made his relaxed muscles twitch. He was boneless and his limbs felt heavy.  
He didn't even notice when his thighs slipped off Jean's shoulders, too lost into his little bubble of mind blowing new sensations. 

Jean recovered quicker than his lover, and he took off his clingy and dirtied shendyt as well as his underwear, cleaning himself with them before tossing them away. Once he was done, he looked up to his slave and worry started creeping up on him as he noticed Marco seemed passed out. His slave's eyes were shut, his breathing slow and he was immobile, aside from a few intermittent twitches of his legs.  
Jean carefully crawled up to lie on his side beside the brunette, not knowing what to do. 

The dulled sensations of the outside world started slowly unfogging and Marco felt the soft touch of knuckles brushing against his cheek. Keeping his eyes closed, he nuzzled against that warm touch. He drew his legs up, moving into a comfortable fetal position as if to keep the warm and relaxed state of his body to himself and escape the outside world for a little more. He brought his hand to his chest too, and only then did he realize that he was still holding onto someone's hand. He released his bone-crushing grip on it as he heard a low, concerned voice.

“Marco?”

Marco's eyes slowly blinked open to find a soft and mostly relieved smile on Jean's face. 

“By Isis, Marco, I was afraid you fainted” Jean sighed, running a hand through his hair.

The brunette reassured him of his consciousness with a weak smile and his just as weak arms reached out for Jean, needing comfort and affection after the intensity of the new feelings Jean made him discover.  
The prince awkwardly settled beside Marco, taking him into hesitant arms. Although his gracious hands were used to hold precious things; from the purest of gems to the most expensive bracelet, they were clumsy and afraid of being too rough when it came to holding the most precious of things.  
Jean wasn't used to post coital cuddles, but once Marco was snuggled up against his chest, he relaxed, enjoying the warmth of his lover's naked body. It actually felt pretty nice, and it was a surprisingly nice change for the both of them that Jean was the one holding Marco in his arms instead of the opposite.  
Shy fingers thread into Marco's messy dark hair, and the young slave hummed encouragingly, appreciating the treatment.  
Marco may not have been an expert when it came to sexual intercourse, as far as tenderness was concerned, Jean still had a lot to learn. So the prince mimicked the gestures that he liked receiving from his slave, hoping Marco would like them just as much.

The meaning of the hair ruffling didn't get lost on Marco, and he closed his eyes, enjoying the treatment. He felt so relax and finally at peace. The doubts and bad feelings of the previous days weren't forgotten, but they were finally behind him. Now there was only the tenderness and the warmth he wished for and craved for so long. And being in Jean's arms felt even better than he expected.  
He could put his mind to rest for now, and heal his heavy heart with every one of Jean's displays of affection. He let himself relax even more in Jean's hold, allowing himself to be the vulnerable one this time. 

“Marco? Are you... crying?”

Marco's head shot up, eyes opening in a hurry at Jean's worried voice. His vision was indeed blurry with silent tears. He didn't even realize he was crying. 

He was crying from the exhaustion of the night and of the many emotions he was swung between in the last hours. He was crying because he was finally letting go of all the accumulated physical and psychological tension. He was crying from the change and also from the relief.  
He couldn't say they were tears of joy, because they also had a strangely bitter after taste; like he still couldn't believe his whole life in Egypt was real.  
He was so happy to have met Jean, to love him, and to be loved back. Right now he was happier than he ever was since he arrived in this country. And it should be enough; he should be thankful to the stars for answering his prayers. Well, he was; partly. Because some of his wishes were still ungranted.  
He knew he shouldn't be too demanding, and he should be satisfied for now. But there would always be something missing in his life here; he knew it. There were scars and memories, stronger than a mere home sickness, that didn't fade that easily and would always come haunting him back at the worst times. 

By his side, Jean was starting to freak out. 

“Did I hurt you? Did I do something wrong? Marco you should have told me!” He whined, running trembling hands on Marco's wet cheeks, gently wiping away the tears while he cursed under his breath. 

Marco met Jean's tawny gaze, pale with worry, and he tried to chase away those negative feelings to focus only on the bright side. For Jean's sake, for both their sakes.

Jean was here with him, Jean was willing to love him and him only, and he was trying so hard despite his insecurities and habits.  
Jean was trying for him and he had given him so much tonight; he shouldn't ruin everything for a little surge of emotion.

Marco put his hand over Jean's on his cheek, reassuringly stroking the back with his thumb. “You were perfect Jean” And it was true, in his wildest, vividest dreams, Marco would never have imagined the night ending like this.  
He didn't expect or even hoped for anything physical coming from Jean, except a few kisses maybe so it was a good surprise. Intimidating at first, but still a _very_ good surprise.  
“It's just...” He took a second to find the right words; he didn't want to worry Jean further. “It was a long day and I'm kind of letting go of everything...”

Jean's frown receded and he seemed reassured by his slave's answer. “I understand, maybe I should have let you rest instead of, you know...”  
Marco's smile returned when he saw Jean blushing. “It's fine, to be honest, it was amazing...” He breathed, closing his eyes and hiding his own blushing face against Jean's shoulder. 

“Really?!” Jean asked, looking surprised before his usual confident facade resurfaced. “I mean, it's no surprise, I'm good at what I do” He smirked. “And all the pretty sounds you were making kind of gave away how much you liked it.”

Marco's blush darkened and he groaned, embarrassed at how out of it and brainless Jean's mouth on him had easily turned him. He couldn't mock Jean's cockiness, he really was good. He had no-one to compare him to, but he still was sure of it. Jean was the only one he wanted, so he was fine with having no comparison at all. 

Jean pressed a few kisses to every hidden parts of Marco's face he could reach. “Seriously, you're so sensitive, I can't wait to see how-” The prince excitedly continued in his slave's ear before stopping, realizing he was getting carried away a bit too quickly by his lust and his probably over average libido. He sheepishly rubbed the back of his head.  
“Sorry, I mean..., when you're ready, there are... other things I'd really like to show you, I'm sure you'll enjoy them too.” He rambled and placed one last kiss on Marco's cheek “But not today... or even tomorrow, unless you want to, but there's no hurry right? Only when you're ready.”

It was cute how hyper Jean was right now and Marco chuckled before he looked up from his hiding place and smiled at Jean while he nodded, silently thanking him for being so attentive and caring.  
He wasn't taken for granted; he wasn't just a toy to be used once or twice and then thrown away. That was everything he wanted, and all the fears regarding Jean's point of view on the bedding matter were dismissed without him even needing to clear things (at least not again; it wasn't like he had been fighting, not with weapons but with words and heartfelt actions, for this recognition since the beginning). It didn't feel dirty being in bed with Jean, because he knew he wasn't used, and knew there was so much more to it than just sex.  
Proof was how Jean was gently kissing the crown of his hair, in a gesture full of pure tenderness, so far away from what Marco would have expected of him in a bedroom months ago.

The prince seemed to be getting pretty confident with the cuddling. It wasn't a surprise, he was smart and a fast learner, and those skills were put to an extremely pleasing and comforting use.  
Honestly, Marco was sure that his former self wouldn't even believe it if thanks to some weird magic he was met with the present situation.  
Jean carefully took hold of the moonstone necklace around Marco's neck, idly stroking its cold surface.

“It's truly a beautiful stone. Goes well with your eyes too.” He complimented.

Maybe it was the later night, or maybe the post-coital warmth, but Jean's was unusually this talkative. Not that he wasn't when he instructed Marco about a subject he particularly liked, or when they were alone on a ride by the Nile, but it was different now.  
His words were more intimate, more heartfelt. Compliments flowed freely from his mouth as he ran his fingers over Marco's numerous freckles, praising them, linking them to draw constellation like patterns. He even talked about his feelings, describing how his heart skipped a beat each time he unexpectedly spotted his slave and how it hurt when he saw him crying by himself on the Nile's bank. 

“That light, it was for your father?”

Marco looked up with wide eyes. He didn't expect Jean to remember what he once told him about his family. Jean obviously cared a lot more than he ever gave him credit for. The brunette sighed through his nose before nodding. He tried to stay composed, not wanting to burst into tears for the umpteenth time of the day.  
He relaxed again when Jean tentatively stroked his still slightly wet cheek while giving him a reassuring smile. 

“I'm sure they're protecting us, from up there where the stars are bright and the moon shines” The prince whispered and the brunette nodded again, immediately getting that Jean was referring to his mother alongside his own father.  
Marco wanted to believe that from the skies, the heavens or whatever place they were in, his father and Jean's mother were in peace, and watching over them, hopefully proud of the progress they made, of the persons they were today. 

“I like to believe they're even trying to reach us sometimes; through the rustling murmur of the wind in the leaves of the trees, or the fleeting waves the stones create when they fall into the water...”

Marco was content with only listening, absorbed by Jean's words. The prince was voicing every one of his thoughts without restraints, trusting Marco enough to listen, without judging him. And at that moment, he was probably more himself than he ever was in Marco's company. Jean's poetic spirit made the young slave's heart melt and he nuzzled closer against him while the prince continued talking about life and death, about after life theories and spirituality.

The brunette found it too bad that he couldn't make the most of this unrestrained Jean, for his eyelids were starting to close, his exhausted body and mind begging him to surrender to the gentle call of sleep. Jean noticed his slave drifting off and he fell silent, a soft smile on his lips as he bid Marco good night with a small yawn. 

“Good night Jean” Was Marco's weak reply as he closed his eyes.

There were no regrets when Marco fell asleep curled up against the warmth of Jean's naked body. The promise of more intimacy, more tender moments and happy memories, as well as the hopes of seeing Jean being so opened and so breathtakingly himself again chased them away with a force that only sincere feelings bore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada, they didn't really do the do... If this sex scene feels a bit rushed when the storyline is concerned, it's partially normal. I kind of did it on purpose. I found that it suited Jean's personnality, his eagerness for contact (the only way he knows how to please someone without being too insecure), and it also fitted how I imagined the story, the pacing, the setting, so if you're wondering, it's a choice. I hope it isn't too out of place or too graphic, but I wanted it to be intense.
> 
> I'll be on vacation from the 20th to the 27th of July so I won't be able to write. I hope to be able to update before the end of the first week of August but I can't promise anything.
> 
> Warning! Shameless self advertising: I wrote a Jurassic World AU, you can find it on my profile. I'll update it soon so if you enjoy this kind of setting, give it a try ^^.
> 
> As always, feedback is very much appreciated (afterall, I'm still not very used to writing sex scenes...)


	13. Floating with Hathor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from vacation, it is refreshed and relaxed that I give you this new chapter!
> 
> First, guys, let me tell you you're amazing! over a 100 comment in total, over 5500 hits!! It's more than I would ever have hoped for and you make me work harder because I want to do my very best to please you and also be proud of what I write.  
> The feed back in the last chapter was incredible, thank you so much for sharing your thoughts about it because it wasn't easy for me to write for it to be well... right.
> 
> Before I let you read :
> 
> **IMPORTANT!** : I have slightly edited the first chapter for reasons (I'm not going to lose myself in long explanations as to why I did it so if you're curious about my thinking on this matter, message me on tumblr and I'll gladly expose my complicated and rambling inside reasonning). So if you want you can go reread it to see the difference (and I suggest you do).
> 
> Also, the amazing and very lovely [Hanta](http://hanta96.tumblr.com/) made an [amazingly beautiful fanart ](http://hanta96.tumblr.com/post/124519529871/art-that-i-had-promised-to-a)that I'll be forever thankful for. Seriously, I love how I can present you a new fanart each chapter but I don't know if I deserve so much love OTL.
> 
> That's all (and probably enough) for today, enjoy the chapter! ;)

The gentle light of Râ caressed Marco's peacefully asleep face, trying to coax him into waking up. But the young slave wasn't ready to come back to reality just yet. His body felt heavy and light at the same time, and so relaxed.... he didn't want to open his eyes. With a soft whine, he turned, seeking the warmth and comfort of the body beside him. His hand weakly searched, but soon, his fingers closed onto nothing but the sheets. Alarm invaded his mind and this time he opened his bleary eyes, frowning at the harsh sunlight as well as the emptiness of the bed.

Jean was gone.

Jean left him alone and doubt filled Marco's still sleepy head.

With Jean's absence, the pleasant exhaustion of the brunette's body turned into a tiring ache and his heart painfully clenched in his chest. He tried to tell himself that Jean was gone because he had important duties to attend, and not because he didn't care about him. He tried to convince himself of it; that the words whispered to him the night before were real and sincere, and not just a way to lead him into bed.   
But in his sudden loneliness, the shadow of Jean's reputation still made Marco worry. What if Jean already got tired of him? Maybe he hadn't been good enough the previous night? After all, he didn't do anything for Jean in return and he was afraid his lack of experience upset him.

But Jean did say they'd take their time and go to his pace...

Conflicted, Marco buried his face in Jean's pillow. The faint smell of the prince filled his nostrils; lotus and scented oil as well as something distinctively Jean which made his heart swell and he didn't know if it helped soothe him or not.   
He could go seek Jean to clear things up but he knew he couldn't talk to him about this matter out of a private setting. Besides, his limbs still felt weak and he didn't trust them to carry him too far for now.

So he stayed sprawled onto the prince's bed, wishing he would be there, tears filling the corner of his eyes as he let himself wallow in uncertainty and longing.

–---------

When the door gently opened, Marco had fallen back into a half asleep state, alternating between sweet dark oblivion and painful awareness.  
But the sound of the door spurred him into action. He was naked in the prince of Egypt's bed and he didn't want anyone to see him in such a shameful state. Hiding under the sheets, he shut his eyes tightly, praying that the visitor didn't see him. The last thing he wanted was more dirty rumors running amongst the other slaves about Jean and him. There were enough already to his liking and even though he tried to ignore them, it wasn't always easy and he could live without it.

His cheeks warmed up and his limbs started trembling in apprehension as he heard footsteps come closer to the bed.

“Marco, why are you hiding?”

Jean's chuckle was almost singing, betraying the unusually good mood he was in.

Marco almost face palmed under the covers so much he had been stupid to not expect the newcomer to simply be the owner of the bed he was staying in.  
But his excitement upon hearing Jean's voice surpassed his embarrassment and he dared poking his head out of his hide with a small smile.

“Jean!” Marco exclaimed, feeling like a puppy wiggling its tail at its master return. Even Kiya never greeted him with so much enthusiasm.

His voice sounded rougher than he expected and Jean chuckled again at his slave's reddening cheeks.   
The prince sat down on the bed, careful not to crush the brunette's body. An unusually warm smile graced his lips and Marco's heart beat faster in his chest at how dashing he looked. 

“Where were you?” He couldn't help but ask, still shyly hiding into the sheets, unsure.

Jean was halfway through reaching out to his slave when the question made him stop, hand hanging in the air. He could see Marco's sudden withdrawal and he didn't want to push him.

“I was having breakfast with my father” The prince truthfully answered in a strained sigh. “I really wanted you there with me but I couldn't bring myself to wake you up...” Soft tawny eyes fell on Marco and he could see pink dust the prince's cheeks. “You looked too peaceful”

Marco bit his lip at the compliment and he slightly straightened up, abandoning his hiding place, the sheets slowly slipping down, revealing his bare torso before falling onto his hips. His eyes met Jean's and he found himself trapped in their intensity. Jean's hanging hand came to cup his slave's freckled cheek, his thumb gently stroking the soft skin there before he leaned down, placing a soft kiss on Marco's lips.  
The brunette closed his eyes and hummed against Jean's lips, his whole body relaxing into the tender kiss. Jean's lips gently moved against his, soft and familiar, and every doubt he might have had before vanished. Because the way Jean was kissing him conveyed how much he felt for him, and not only a burning desire or a fleeting need.

Marco could get used to mornings like this; tender and gentle. He wished he could keep kissing Jean forever, but at some point he needed to breathe too. He pulled away but didn't open his eyes, resting his forehead against Jean's with a content sigh. Jean's thumb kept stroking his cheek and Marco smiled, pleasant butterflies fluttering in his chest. 

“Good morning Marco” Jean breathed, nuzzling their noses together with unexpected affection.

A beaming smile split Marco's face and he opened sparkling brown eyes to meet burning tawny ones. It was the first time Jean greeted him like this.  
The previous night had felt like a dream, but now, having Jean close to him again in a tender intimacy, he finally realized it was real and he was so thankful for it.   
He loved Jean and Jean loved him back. The idea of it made his heart swoon. It was too good to be true.

“Good morning Jean” He answered before excitedly daring to place a quick peck on Jean's lips.

Jean chuckled against Marco's lips. “You're cute” He said before pulling away., his hand leaving his slave's warm cheek as he got up. “I have to head off to my fencing lesson” The prince informed with a small sigh. “While I'm gone, you can use my bathroom; I gather you'd enjoy a bath after the night we had”

Jean winked and Marco went back to hiding under the sheets, his face flushed. He wasn't used to Jean's teasing and confident side in this new context yet and it made him a bit shy. And thinking back about what they did the previous night made him blush harder. His reaction didn't go unnoticed and given the smirk on Jean's face, he got exactly what his slave was thinking about.

“I'd really like to stay and bath with you, but I have to go” The prince reluctantly said. “Think you can survive without me for a few hours?” 

Marco's shyness got dismissed by Jean's cockiness and a small laugh finally escaped him as Jean waved one last time before leaving the room.  
Once Jean was out, Marco buried his face back into his pillow, shamelessly inhaling his scent while he excitedly moved his legs up and down the sheets, giggling not unlike a young maiden would.

–---------

Marco never bathed in such luxury and he made a point to enjoy every single second of it. He probably would have other opportunities to use Jean's huge bathroom, but in doubt, he made the most of it.

He sighed contently as he let himself sink further into the warm water he filled the bath with (he didn't dare using milk). He never had so much space for his long limbs while bathing and it was incredible. He felt every single one of his tensed muscle relax and if he wasn't careful, he was sure he could fall asleep in the water.  
The multiple scents in the room didn't help, making his head spin. Admittedly, he had been kind of overzealous when adding the scented oils and perfumes into the bath water, unable to resist trying each one of the numerous bottles on the shelves. 

With what Jean did for him the previous night, and how now he allowed him into his bathroom, he felt spoiled. At first, he wanted to be the one to do things for Jean because he felt like it was his duty as Jean's personal slave. But now he realized that as Jean's partner (should he dare say lover?), he also deserved to have the kindness reciprocated. It was what being a couple was about wasn't it? Being there for the other, kind and helpful.

Couple. The word seemed a huge step and the thought made his hot steam induced blush grow darker.

Were Jean and him a couple?

Everything went so fast but so out of time the previous night that Marco didn't even consider how things would go from now between Jean and him. He supposed that in the intimacy of Jean's room things wouldn't change too much, but how was he supposed to act when hanging out with Jean in the palace?   
Acting as if nothing had changed between them was probably the best option. He was still a slave and he couldn't act as Jean's equal out of closed doors. It made his heart sink a bit.  
He was far from wanting to show off his closeness with the prince, and he was probably too shy for any public display of affection, but still, knowing that he'd have to be careful with the way he looked, touched and addressed Jean so their relationship wouldn't be discovered sounded a bit scary. 

Running a hand through his damp hair, Marco sighed. Worrying brought him nothing but anxiety so he tried to push those thoughts away. He would see how things went as they would come. He was sure Jean and him could make it, step by step, slowly but surely. The most difficult part was probably behind them anyway and those little worries couldn't shadow the cheer happiness of finally being with Jean.  
Marco still made note to talk to Jean about his concerns. They had to make things clear between each other. He learned the hard way that misinterpretation and lack of communication, especially when it came to Jean led to sorrow and hurt, and he didn't want to repeat the past's mistakes.

Looking down at his wrinkled fingers, the young brunette deemed it was probably time to get out of the water. He knew he stayed in the bathroom far too long, but he still wondered if Jean was done with his fencing lesson. Honestly, it was egoist but all he wanted right now was to cuddle with Jean; to be close to him again. He even considered dragging Jean away from his lesson if it wasn't over; but he quickly decided against it, it wasn't reasonable. Jean had duties, he still was the prince!

As he absentmindedly dried himself with an extremely soft linen towel, Marco felt his cheeks heat up again. He didn't expect to be this needy for Jean's attention, but now that he tasted it; Jean's touches, Jean's smiles, he felt like he couldn't get enough of it, like a weird kind of addiction. And at some point he even secretly wished Jean had accompanied him for the bath.  
He was a bit ashamed by this new feeling and he tried to tame it, walking in direction of the kitchens instead of the fencing court once he was dressed.

–---------

Marco walked to the kitchens on instinct more than anything else. He had no intention to boast about his night with Jean to his friends; on the contrary, he'd rather keep those events to himself. But if he ended up bumping into Bertholdt or Reiner, he would make sure to apologize for disappearing in the night the previous day and not going back to the palace with them. He hoped he didn't make his friends worry too much about him and that they weren't mad at him in any way.

When he finally entered the large palace kitchens, Marco was surprised to find them mostly empty. What time of the day was it exactly? He couldn't tell precisely but it was probably kind of late already, maybe around the middle of the afternoon. Seeing the food leftovers from what was probably Pharaoh's lunch made Marco's stomach growl. He didn't eat anything since he woke up and he didn't realize before but he was getting pretty hungry.   
He eyed the leftovers again, pondering if he had the right or not to snatch some. But he quickly decided to go for it with a shrug. No-one would need them anyway. 

The young brunette took a clean plate and served himself a few raw vegetables and fruits as well as a small piece of smoked meat. He sat down on a bench and unceremoniously dug into his plate, using his bare hands to eat. He let out a content sigh at the rich tastes flooding his mouth.  
So far, this was a very nice day. The only thing he needed to make it better was to spend more time with Jean, he thought, blushing slightly as he swallowed one of Jean's favourite fruits, a date.

However, Marco's peaceful day had to be interrupted. 

About halfway through his improvised meal, he heard two loud voices as well as two sets of footsteps coming from the wine cellar. The poor young slave didn't even have time to finish his mouthful that he was caught red handed by two mischievous smiles.

“Oh but isn't it little Marco I see stealing food from Pharaoh!” 

Marco averted his eyes from Ymir's predatory gaze, taking a large gulp of water to help him swallow his mouthful and hopefully cool the heat reaching his face.

“Maybe you should drink this instead?” A very cheerful Eren sat across him, offering him a big jug of wine. “Goes especially well with smoked meat!”

As Marco shook his head, Ymir grabbed the jug from Eren, taking a large swing of wine before slamming the jug back onto the table, the brutal gesture making Marco's shoulders tense.  
Eren was much gentler when he took the jug back, taking a more reasonable sip of the red beverage. But still, Marco found that both dark skinned wine thieves in front of him made surprisingly good partners in crime.

“So, I hear you and Jean went to bed quite late yesterday?” The short brunette teased. “Bad boys, you had Pharaoh worried at some point...”

Marco's head shot up. “He was?”

Eren hummed, nodding around another gulp of wine. “Well yes, from what I heard he was kind of freaking out that his precious son got lost.”

“Or eaten by crocodiles” Ymir bluntly added. “At least that was one of Nick's suppositions while Pharaoh was pacing around like crazy in his chambers.”

Marco paled. The previous night, time flew by so quickly when he was on the Nile's bank with Jean. And they were so lost in their little world, had so much things to sort out that back then they didn't even think once that Jean's father could be worrying himself sick in his palace.  
Despite his severe attitude towards Jean, it seemed his father really cared about him. How could he not? He was the last close family member he had; and the last reminder of his deceased wife too, of what they had together. Jean was his blood, his son, his love, his life.

Sensing Marco's mood droping, Eren patted him on the shoulder, trying his best to be reassuring. “But we weren't worried. Reiner saw you were with Jean and we trusted you to take care of him and bring him home safely.” He said with the softest smile Marco ever saw on those devilish features. “That's what a _personal slave_ is for isn't it?” Eren added, a suggestive spark soon returning to his green gaze, making Marco look away in embarrassment.

Eren couldn't know the exact ins and outs of his relationship with Jean; it was impossible. But Marco still found that knowing glint in his eyes and smile disturbing; like even if he didn't know the details, Eren was aware something was going on. And that was enough to make Marco slightly uncomfortable; blushing like a young maiden in love (which he kind of was in a way).

Of course, Ymir didn't help ease Marco's discomfort at all when she pointed at Marco's new necklace. “Pretty thing you've got there” Ymir complimented but Marco didn't like the knowing look and wink she gave him. 

The young slave looked down to the moonstone, almost surprised. It was so at its place resting on his chest that he didn't remember having it on. He wrapped his fingers around it protectively, afraid it would be snatched away from him again. He still couldn't believe Jean found it for him; it all seemed like an illusion, like his whole life in Egypt; an unbelievable wild dream.  
But it made sense that Ymir knew about the necklace; she was Historia's lady's companion after all so she must have accompanied her and Jean while searching for a present for him. However she couldn't possibly know the deeper meaning behind that particular stone, Marco thought as he lovingly stroked the pale pendant, a soft smile gracing his features.

“Yeah that's new” Eren remarked, curiously reaching out to touch the stone too. “Where did you get that?”

Marco instinctively moved back and Eren got the message, reluctantly putting his hand away. The young slave didn't want to be rude, but this necklace was the last concrete memory he had from home, as well as now a symbol of what he had with Jean, so he was going to hold onto it, to treasure it, and for now, he wasn't willing to let anyone touch it. He was aware that it was a bit egoistic, but he didn't have anymore personal belongings other than this particular one and he wanted to keep it safe.

“It's a present, that's why little Marco is so keen on keeping it to himself” Ymir answered and Eren looked back and forth between Marco and her, puzzled, lost with how the two freckled faces seemed to know something he didn't quite get.

Ymir's answer was more accurate than she realized, for this necklace was twice a present, only heightening its sentimental value. But Marco didn't want to explain how much this stone meant to him; it was too complicated and although he appreciated Eren and Ymir very much, he was kind of scared they would mock his romantic faith in fate and destiny.  
Eren didn't have time to investigate the necklace's origins further anyway for the trio was interrupted by the melodious voice of Historia.

“Ymir are you there?” The petite blond asked, slightly coughing from the smoke of a cooking pot. It was clear that Historia wasn't used to coming down here between the slaves, but she didn't seem frightened or angry, her ever soft radiant smile still on. And even her cough was cute. Marco was starting to wonder if being so perfect was humanly possible.

“I'm here!” Ymir beamed, not losing a second in getting up and hurrying to Historia's side like a loyal dog.

Historia's smile brightened impossibly. “I've been looking for you for hours! I need your help, I don't know what to wear tonight...” She revealed her distress while rubbing the effects of the smoke away from her teary eyes.

Marco smiled, amused. Dressing advice; it was completely something Jean could come to him for. As Ymir and Historia conversed, eyes in the vague Marco lost himself in memories of Jean trying out jewels and clothes, asking him if they matched his eyes. He remembered Jean's slightly arched back as he took off his clothes, his elegant fingers slipping into golden rings, his tongue poking out in concentration as he put on kohl...

“Marco?”

Marco started, popping out of his daydreaming with large blinking eyes. But Historia didn't seem offended by his lack of attention, instead giving him a gentle smile.

“I asked if you liked the necklace?” The petite blonde repeated the question he didn't hear with a small chuckle. 

Marco felt himself blush up to his ears. Historia knew why Jean bought him that necklace and even helped the prince chose it so he felt a bit naked, bared in front of her shinning blue eyes. But he was also thankful and he had to express that feeling.

“I love it, thank you.” He simply answered, in all sincerity, a smile finding its way to his lips.

“Oh you don't have to thank me” Historia waved her hand in dismissal. “I was supposed to help Jean chose but once he spotted that particular necklace, he decided it was the one on his own. Really, it was like love at first sight” She giggled and it was like hearing the calm flow of crystalline water.

Marco's smile widened against his will at this new piece of information. He was sure now that it was fate that brought Jean to buy his necklace back, like the part of Marco imprisoned in that stone had exerted an invisible pull on the prince, their attraction for each other so strong that he couldn't go past an object that once belonged to his slave.  
The longing look Marco gave his necklace while thinking about Jean was transparent to Historia and she deemed it her time to leave, slightly nudging Ymir so she would follow her out of the kitchens.

Marco didn't call her back, although he would have wanted to apologize for once being jealous of the blonde's relationship with Jean. But doing so would only have served to egoistically ease his own conscience, for Historia probably never suspected him to jealous her and knowing about it wouldn't bring her anything but bother.

Once Ymir and Historia were gone, Eren who had been silently listening the whole time finally got his words back.

“I knew it!” He exclaimed pointing to Marco's necklace again. “It's a present from Jean!”

Marco sighed at Eren's teasing expression. “So what if it is?” He asked, trying to sound as indifferent as possible.

The brunette was tired of blushing and getting embarrassed, and at this point, he had none of either left inside him. He wasn't ashamed of being infatuated with Jean and there was no point in hiding it from Eren. He had to take responsibility for wearing the necklace and be proud of it, proud of the meaning it bore. What he had with Jean wasn't shameful, fleeting or carnal, it was so much more than that.

Eren was taken aback by Marco's answer, his mouth gaping open and then closed like a fish out of the water. Chuckling at the effectiveness of his honest answer, Marco got up, took his plate and cleared it from the remaining food before dumping it into a bucket of water already full of dirty dishes. But during that time Eren's confidence came back and he tried teasing Marco further.

“So did you two... you know” He asked with a wiggle of his thick eyebrows. 

Marco sighed again, rolling his eyes. Eren was ever the so refined and delicate. At least he didn't make any unnecessarily suggestive gestures to get his point across.   
This time, answering took the freckled brunette a second, for he had to tame the bubbly feeling in his chest a the thought of what happened in the privacy of Jean's room the previous night. It was still a rather fresh memory.  
Being vague but honest was probably the best choice when facing Eren's teasing (after the just 'ignore him' option) and Marco wasn't afraid of the ex-dancer starting a rumor so he didn't hesitate. 

“What if we did?” He finally asked back with an innocent smile although his cheeks were slightly pink and he avoided looking straight into Eren's intense green eyes.

And with that reply which shut Eren's mouth for good, he left, head held high, kind of proud of himself.

–---------

Finding Jean in the immensity of the palace was a harder task than Marco expected. He checked the prince's favourite places to be; namely his bedroom, his bathroom, the gardens, the stables... He even checked the library and the fencing court in case Jean's fencing lesson was still going on (which he doubted, but he still had to be sure).  
Marco explored the palace to and fro in search of the prince but never bumped into him. It was unbelievable how Jean always managed to find him, or how the blond would always bump into him by chance. But now that he was actively looking for him, Jean was nowhere to be seen.

Exhausted from his brisk walking along the endless corridors, Marco sighed in defeat, leaning his back against a nearby wall. He felt like he had been searching for hours now and his time estimation probably wasn't too far from reality for the sun was already starting to set in the sky.  
At some point he suspected Jean had gone for a ride, but when he went to the stables his black horse was still there. Maybe they just kept missing each other (which wouldn't be surprising given how fate seemed to love playing with Marco's heart). The brunette wondered if he shouldn't have stayed in the same place the whole time to make things easier.

Just when Marco was about to surrender and go back to Jean's bedroom to wait for him there, four silhouettes turned around the corner of the long corridor. Two of them were bald guards armed with long shiny spears, their stern expressions only hardened by the dark lines circling their eyes, and between them, walking as elegantly as royalty was supposed to, were Pharaoh, crowned with his symbolic Pschent as well as the person Marco was so eager to see.

The young slave's eyes brightened and he had to refrain himself from calling out to the prince in his excitement. Despite his new closeness to Jean, Marco still knew his place, and he knew better than to make a fool of himself and embarrass Jean in front of his father when they didn't even talk about how they should behave in public. Especially not when Jean seemed unusually relaxed in the sovereign's presence.

The prince's eyes were glued on his father, full of admiration instead of his usual disdain, and he was drinking up every one of Pharaoh's words, focused, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. The conversation was too hushed for Marco to know what matter father and son were discussing, but he never saw Jean interact so positively with his father and the sight spread a warm feeling through his chest.

As the small procession moved closer, Marco didn't know what to do with himself. He was frozen on his spot, even wondering if he really wanted Jean to notice him or not. He didn't want to break this father and son moment.   
But as much as Pharaoh and the guards could go by a random slave without sparing him a single look, Marco's familiar presence pulled the strings of Jean's heart and attracted his attention. Tawny eyes met deep brown ones and Jean's smile was not hinted anymore.

“Marco, where have you been all this time?” The prince stopped abruptly, creating a gap between him and the rest of the escort. There was no anger in his voice, only relief and a touch of delight.

Soon, the guards and Pharaoh came to a halt too, and as the sovereign turned back, his questioning eyes gave the young slave a silent once-over.   
Marco looked down by reflex, bending under the morning and evening star's strong gaze.   
But Pharaoh's attention didn't seem to disturb Jean who gladly invited his slave to follow them.

“Come on, you don't want to be late for dinner” He simply said, not without an encouraging smile, before hurrying back to his father's side.

His legs working on instinct, a slightly flushed Marco got into pace with the procession, slowly walking a respectful step behind Jean.  
And although he knew he had to keep the personal slave act, after he regained his composure, and since nobody could see him from behind, Marco used this opportunity to marvel at how gorgeous Jean looked. His elegant walk, the faint swing of his hips, his thin neck, his soft and yet unruly hair... But his favourite thing was probably Jean's playfully smiling profile as he swiftly winked at him while Pharaoh wasn't watching.

–---------

It was far from being the first time Marco stood beside Jean's chair as the prince ate at the too long royal table, facing Pharaoh like he always did. But on that particular day, something felt different.  
When the brunette's discomfort during meals often came from the cold atmosphere between Jean and his father, today, there was no such thing. Jean, although still eating sparsely, enthusiastically tried every single one of the dishes offered to him. All the while, he kept conversing with his father about the prowess of his black mount and how he was glad he bought it. Pharaoh listened intently, a fond glint to his strong gaze.  
But maybe it was the young slave's slightly paranoid mind making him suspect that almighty Pharaoh could read through him and see what he did with his son the previous day, or maybe it was just the nervousness of being in presence of the father of whom he now wanted to consider his significant other, but Marco felt even more uncomfortable than usual.

“And to think I never would have gotten the horse if not for Marco here” Jean proudly exclaimed, making his slave jump. Marco couldn't believe Jean was trying to include him into the conversation. In his unwillingly conditioned slave mind, he didn't deserve to be even mentioned in front of Pharaoh.  
He felt extremely exposed, but also flattered that Jean deemed him important enough to talk about him in front of his father (and in a good way, not just to make him mad with their nightly adventures like he could have been tempted to do before).

“Oh?” Pharaoh's expression pictured sheer interest. “How so?” He curiously asked and Marco's jaw almost dropped open.

But he quickly regained his composure, straightening up his back as Jean told his father how he almost got swindled by a merchant while buying the horse.   
Pharaoh listened intently, and in his eyes, Marco could see the father pierce through the sovereign mask. For Pharaoh may have been a solar being blessed by the gods, but he was still a man, a father, who loved his son dearly and only wanted his happiness.  
The sovereign's gaze switched from his son to Marco, acknowledging him with a small nod as Jean explained how he spotted the merchant's scammed scale and eventually convinced him to keep the horse. A decision the prince didn't regret at all.  
The conversation between Jean and his father was relaxed, the atmosphere between them lacking any tension, and Marco wished they could have found that balance sooner. But some things took time, and later was better than never.

“Well my son, I think you have found a gem of a slave here.” Pharaoh said, leaning back against the back of his large finely sculpted chair. “Surrounding yourself with the right people as well as seeing and exploiting the qualities in your subordinates is a true sovereign's quality” He praised, taking a sip of his wine. Stealing a quick gaze at Jean, Marco saw he had difficulty hiding his beaming smile, his cheeks slightly rosy.

“I've never seen my son keep a slave so close and for so long” Marco's head snapped up when he realized Pharaoh was now addressing him. “You must be an incredibly patient young man to be able to put up with him.” 

Jean pouted at the reflexion, crossing his arms in front of his chest but he didn't get cross. Pharaoh chuckled and Marco wondered if he ought to reply. Now that the sovereign acknowledged him, he didn't want to push his privileges by speaking out of turn. However he still daringly spoke his mind, the relaxed atmosphere encouraging him.

“It wasn't easy at the beginning, but the prince taught me a lot of things.” He courageously started, still, his voice weaker than usual. “He's very cultured and talented, as well as thoughtful.”

Marco talked with his heart, depicting Jean like he had learned to see him, enumerating the qualities hiding under his brash and carefree appearance.   
Pharaoh's eyes widened, from having a slave converse with him so casually and also from the way said slave described his son. Marco was being honest, not losing himself into excessive praises, and the sovereign was taken aback by how he figured Jean out, by how observant and tolerant he was; by how he almost knew the actual Jean better than him from a few months of experience only.

The room fell silent and cold sweat started trickling down Marco's back from apprehension. What if he had said something wrong? He didn't realize he was biting his lips until he suddenly felt the metallic taste of blood invade his mouth.  
A small cough cut the thick silence and the brunette looked down to the source of the noise. Jean's soft, almost proud smile helped him relax a bit, but he was still worried, Pharaoh's eyes stuck on him, as if trying to dissect him, to see through him who he was and what he was made of. 

“As a prince should be” Pharaoh finally said, lowly, slowly recovering from his circumspection. “But I'm sure you taught him precious lessons too” He added, eyes sharp, suspecting that Jean's gradual changes in behaviour in the last months may have to do with his slave's influence.

Marco let out a discrete sigh of relief, his tensed shoulders relaxing and his lips forming a small smile. He felt his cheeks warm up at the hidden compliment in Pharaoh's words, and his discomfort from before was mostly gone.

After this small exchange, Jean and his father fell back into a conversation that didn't include Marco anymore. But it was fine by him. Being addressed and acknowledged by the ruler of both Egypts, and most importantly, Jean's father, had already been more than he could ever had hoped for.   
Not feeling part of the furniture for once, he listened intently, a fond smile on his lips, content to be able to see Jean so effloresced in his father's presence.

–---------

The following days felt like floating on a fluffy cloud of happiness for Marco, full of tender touches, deep conversations late at night and loving kisses.

The prince and his slave had come to the agreement of keeping their relationship a secret for the moment, after they had discussed the matter for quite a long time, securely draped into the covers as well as each other in the intimacy of Jean's bed, each one of them stating the exact limits of what they would or wouldn't allow themselves to do when in public. They both knew they would have to be careful, vigilant, and it probably wasn't going to be an easy rule to follow. A small tender gesture or an absentmindedly whispered sweet word could slip very quickly, especially with how they couldn't seem to be able to stay too far away from each other now.   
They hoped the love struck gazes they kept exchanging, often without realizing it, wouldn't give them away too quickly.

Jean told Marco he was sorry that they had to hide, but that it was the best option for the both of them. Marco understood, of course. He trusted Jean wasn't ashamed of being with him and him only. They were far past that point; Jean being used to the many rumors going on about his relationships with slaves, and Marco not needing any public display to believe Jean was proud of having him by his side. But if they were to be careless, the prince knew the consequences would be far more important on Marco's side, for he was a slave, not untouchable royalty. Who knew what horrible things other slaves or nobles could come up with if jealousy suddenly struck them. That particular point worried Jean, and Marco, although he couldn't bear to see him nervous, felt rather touched by how thoughtful his prince was towards him now. 

When Jean was an extrovert in society, Marco was more the shy type, and even in another world were they would be equal in the eyes of all, he couldn't imagine touching Jean in public without dying of embarrassment and feeling like all eyes were on him, judging him. He usually tried not to bother with what others could think of him, but when Jean was concerned too, he became more defensive, more protective and he would hate to hear people talking badly about the one he loved so dearly. 

The young brunette never expected to be vain in any way, but he had to admit that being Jean's secret lover was thrilling and made a weird sense of pride bloom in his chest. How could he not be proud? Behind closed doors, the prince of Egypt, single heir to the throne, had eyes only for him and was interested in such a banal person as himself. And in public, he liked to think that when Jean spaced out, he it was because he was thinking of him, of them. And he knew he wasn't just imagining it.

However, as the days passed, the fright of being discovered turned into excitement, and the careful space that separated the two lovers as they walked the palace corridors soon narrowed to mere inches. What Marco could never have dared doing, thanks to Jean's forwardness and ardour became a daily routine.   
Hands were hold in the corridors when no-one was looking and kisses were stolen about everywhere in the palace when the opportunity presented itself. A first they would wait until they were alone in the gardens, protected by the large leaves of the palm trees to exchange a few quick pecks, and not without regularly eying their surroundings, but then, the kisses turned more heated and were initiated whenever no-one was in sight and Jean felt like it.

Which was very often.

One of Jean's quality (that Marco couldn't convince himself was a terrible flaw, even if he tried), was how vigorous he was. He was grabby and always in need of affection. Marco admitted he appreciated it. A lot. But several time, that enthusiasm threatened to have them discovered; which of course had Marco mortified every time, while Jean just laughed it off, finding it rather exciting. Marco suspected Jean might have a slightly exhibitionist side. 

At some point, the brunette almost believed he couldn't say no to Jean's advances anymore, and it bothered him. But when one day he ended up saying 'no' to something; a real objection, and not a simple warning about being discovered, the prince immediately stepped away, like if burned, keeping his hands to himself and his eyes lowered like a kicked puppy, apologizing profusely. Despite his superior lineage, Jean had learned to be respectful and realized things weren't as good as when both sides were on for it. For him, Marco's needs and desires were a priority now.

Marco spent so much time in Jean's company, being treated by the prince as his equal, that he felt like he was living the good life. He was bathed in luxury all day long, in a way he would never had imagined or even hoped for in his wildest dreams; extravagant oils and ointments, dizzying perfumes and soft fabric were a daily routine he would never get bored of. Save of course for the meal times where he had to stand beside Jean under Pharaoh's righteous gaze and address the prince by his title. He never wished for wealth or opulence, but he had to admit this kind of comfort wasn't unwelcome, and a nice addition to being with Jean.  
Everything still felt like a dream that he never wanted to escape, for he knew now that he got used to it; to the happiness, the love, if he happened to wake up, he would fall hard.

But he tried to avoid worrying himself with thoughts of a too far away future, and enjoy the present as much as he could.   
It turned out it wasn't such an arduous task when he was riding his little grey mare under the pleasant evening sun. 

Marco had come to love horse riding and became more and more confident with it as the last hot days of the Egyptian summer started letting place to the wind announcing colder months. Rides alongside the Nile with Jean were always a peaceful and extremely enjoyable experience, never getting boring even when they took the a well known path and only stayed at a slow pace. They could discuss for hours before realizing they should probably head back with shared blissful laughter. 

That day, as the sun was setting, they just decided to head back when Jean stopped his black stallion just beside Marco's mare. The freckled brunette eyed the prince curiously, stopping his mount too.

“Jean, are you feeling alright?”

Jean smiled, reassuring as well as grateful for Marco's concern and he nodded before dangerously leaning to the side, skillfully keeping his balance when one of his legs was almost on his horse's back. Although flicking an elegant ear backwards, puzzled by the unusual things going on on his back, the black stallion didn't move and so Jean could continue his risky mission. He gently cupped Marco's cheek, chuckling at his slave's lost expression before swiftly catching his lips, dry from the sun and the sand in a stolen kiss.   
Marco closed his eyes and hummed against Jean's lips, pleasantly surprised. As the kiss grew more heated, the brunette docilely parted his lips, now comfortable and used to the gesture. But just when he did so, Jean pulled away with a smirk and in a second, he was straddling his horse correctly again and kicking the stallion's flanks to urge it into a canter.   
A small whine escaped Marco before a grin appeared on his face, his heart bursting with joy and passion. He was so glad he had Jean and he couldn't get enough of his unpredictable stunts and his free spirit.

Clicking his tongue, the brunette coaxed his mare into following the other horse, and she gladly obeyed, setting into a comfortable canter too. Jean's horse had longer strides as well as a fair lead on the brunette and his bloody-shouldered mare, but soon, Marco was riding just behind him, relieving in the feeling of the still warm wind blowing on his face. They were galloping extremely close the Nile's shore, the horses hooves making the reeds bend in their wake, their long stems tickling the young boys' bare legs. 

But Marco's peace was short lived for at some point, a shadow passed in front of the sun, darkening the left corner of his vision for a split second. At first he though he just imagined it, for Jean in front of him didn't seem to catch it, but a bad feeling still invaded him, his muscles tensing unwillingly as his mind sounded the alarm.

It happened too fast. 

There was a shrieking noise, like a piercing cry and then the shadow was back, quick and accurate, crashing into Jean's head before he could even see it coming. The force of the blow made the prince lose his balance, throwing him off his horse and sending him flying with a loud splash into the deep waters of the Nile. 

It happened too fast.

The shadow disappeared as quickly as it came and Marco pulled at the reins with all his strength to stop his mare. She immediately obeyed, barely avoiding crashing into the rearing black mass of the angry stallion, who was startled and panicked by the fall of its rider.   
Quickly dismounting, Marco didn't even think a second about calming the horses or about making sure they wouldn't escape. He hurried back to the spot where Jean fell, the still waters slightly bubbling with the waves caused by Jean's body. He was holding his breath, eyes frantically searching for any sign of blond hair, an arm, a leg, anything.

But the prince wasn't resurfacing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the cliffhanger, you don't deserve it, but I just couldn't resist it !


	14. The healing Ankh of Serket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the last chapter's cliffhanger guys! Here comes your relief, sorry for the wait...  
> I can't believe we reached over 6000 hits, this is amazing, thank you so much for your support!
> 
> i read every single comment, and I don't know what to reply to them except: thank you for your kind words and for leaving a message, really, it means a lot to me.
> 
> I loved to see your theories about what happened/will happen, from assassination to memory loss trauma, to death of the poor Jean, ahah, now you will kind of have your answer :).
> 
> Link to fanarts time now ! : http://trashcanalma.tumblr.com/image/126602679178 Egyptian AU Jean drawn by the wonderful alma (trashcanalma on tumblr, check her art out, it's cool and there's some more EgyptAU stuff ^^), and http://thecookiedoodles.tumblr.com/post/126117305157/through-horus-eyes-egyptian-au-fan-fiction-by by thecookiedoodles on tumblr! (thank you again :) )

The waters of the mighty Nile had stilled and Marco was starting to panic. Despite its calm appearance, the river was ending its flooding and the current was strong. Marco feared the prince's probably unconscious body had already been carried away from where he fell. But how could he know how far away he had been drifting? How could he find him if he didn't resurface?  
The young slave's heart was beating fast and his mind was racing. He considered just jumping into the waters, but he risked being taken away by the current too. He bit his lip, trying to focus on the best option. He had to do something and quick, even if it meant being reckless, saving Jean from drowning was the priority.

A loud rumbling sound, almost like a growl caught Marco's attention and he looked up from the waters, his eyes widening in fear. A few meters downriver, on the other side of the river, he spotted a large bask of Nile crocodiles. And instead of calmly bathing in the evening sun, the reptiles were clacking their impressive jaws and beginning to walk towards the waters, as if they had seen a potential prey.  
Inspecting the waters with panic-stricken eyes, Marco finally saw what got the animal's attention. There was a faint trail of pink on the water surface a few meters downriver. Marco's blood turned cold. No doubting it was Jean's blood tainting the water. 

Jean was in terrible danger.

Jean was bleeding and was probably unconscious. 

How long before he drowned? How long before he died of blood loss? Marco hoped to the all the gods, Egyptian or not that he wasn't dead yet. He couldn't be dead, he was the prince of Egypt, this couldn't be happening!

The sound of the crocodiles entering the water spurred Marco into action. Even if Jean was still alive, how long before he got eaten?

Without a second though, the young slave got up to his feet and ran towards the blood trail, following it until it stopped. And despite the danger, despite the risk for his own life, he took a deep heaving breath and didn't hesitate before diving into the Nile.

The waters were deeper than he expected and the current was strong. Marco fought against it, trying to find his way and mostly to find Jean underwater. He tried opening his eyes but the agitated waters were filled with sand and mud, making it hard to see. Even if a crocodile came near him, he would probably not see it and the thought made his muscles tetanize. He was about to go up for air when he felt something brush against his leg. He almost gasped in fear, risking to drown himself, but resisted the urge in one lucky momentum of self control. He clenched his eyes shut and gave a kick, afraid it was a crocodile. But he didn’t hit anything, and the second time he touched the thing, this time with his fingers, he realized it was rather soft, far away from a reptile's tough skin. He forced his eyes open, and with an effort, he spotted blond hair.  
It was Jean's hand that had brushed against his leg. The prince's eyes were closed, clearly unconscious and it was his head that was bleeding, probably from the impact that made him fall in the first place.   
Not losing a second, Marco grabbed Jean's limp body and dragged him to the surface.

When he resurfaced, the brunette took a large gulp of air before focusing on getting Jean's head out of the water. He placed Jean's lolling out head on his shoulder and swam on his back, one hand helping him move forward while the other strongly held Jean in place so he wouldn't slip away from his grip.   
They moved towards the river bank, slowly but surely. 

Marco was breathing hard, the fight against the current while holding Jean's dead weight was tiring him more than he expected. But they were almost there.

Marco's pace was slowing, his limbs starting to ache.

Just few more meters. They would be safe soon and he could tend to Jean's wound and bring him back home.

A glimpse of a tail flipping into the water in front of him caught the slave's eyes and made his heart hammer in his chest. Adrenaline pumped into his veins and he batted his legs harder, faster, survival instinct pushing the limits of his exhausted body.  
His fingers reached out behind him, touching the reeds, trying to grab them in hopes to extricate Jean and him from the turbulent waters. But it was hard, too hard. Jean was heavy and his slave couldn’t quite haul the both of them onto the sand of the river bank. Marco struggled, tiring himself more with each move, and tears started forming at the corner of his eyes in desperation. They were so close but he couldn't quite make it. And he had trouble keeping Jean's head out of the water too.  
Just as Marco's brain filled with despair and wickedly whispered to him to give up, to let go, to stop fighting and embrace dying alongside Jean, his fingers threaded into thick coarse hair.

He looked up to find his little bloody shouldered mare standing on the river bank, her head dropped towards him, as if trying to assist him, offering her help. The brunette quickly draped his arm around the mare's neck, holding her tight, and as if she understood what she ought to do, she arched her neck up and started slowly moving backwards, effectively dragging the two boys out of the water.  
Marco kept praising her as she moved, telling her how much of a good girl she was and promising her tons of hay and oat while marveling at her strength and courage.

Once Marco was on the sand, the young slave released his hold on the gray mare to finish dragging Jean out of the water himself. There was blood on his chest from where Jean's head had been and it was also progressively tainting the sand pink.   
Now that they didn't risk drowning, he had to stop the haemorrhage. He wasted no time in trying to regain his ragged breathing and set to work immediately. He tore up part of his Shendyt and wrapped the fabric around the prince's head, making sure not to make it too tight. It was a makeshift bandage but he hoped it would slow down the bleeding and gain Jean the precious minutes they needed to make it back to the palace.   
But in his hurry to tend to Jean's wounds, Marco had forgotten the hungry reptiles that had tracked them down from underwater, following the smell of blood. The young slave started when a menacing jaw cut through the water and snapped into empty air just beside Jean's limp legs in a scary clacking sound. The mare shrieked in fear beside Marco and moved back, completely panicked, nostrils flaring around anxious puff of air. The brunette grabbed Jean under his arms in a hurry and tried to drag him as far away as the crocodile as he could.   
But dragging Jean's dead weight, he was slow, and another crocodile soon joined the first on the river bank. The huge 2 meter long beasts were far quicker on the sand than he expected, and Marco's heart was pounding in his chest in fear, panicking more and more with each meter the crocodiles gained on them. And the worst realization struck him; they couldn't outdistance them at this pace. Cold sweat running down his back and on his forehead, droplets stinging his eyes, Marco tried to move faster, but the way he was holding Jean was no good. He stopped and swiftly lifted the prince into his arms. He was about to turn around and use the last forces left in him to make a run for it, but in the meantime, the crocodiles had come closer. 

A sudden pain shot through Marco's entire body as one of crocodile's claw pierced the skin at the back of his calf. He gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the pain and focus on evading the next attack. Next time he probably wouldn't be this lucky and the reptile might use its teeth. But the wound was deeper than he expected, having reached his tendons and muscles, and when he made a step forward, he fell face first into the sand on top of Jean with a painful wince.  
He quickly rolled onto his back, facing the cold blooded animals and he kicked his feet to try and keep them at bay, a protective arm draped around Jean's still unconscious figure. But his efforts were of no use, he had no chances against the bask of reptiles. His whole face was burning, hurt and cut by the coarse sand, and tears were prickling at the corner of his eyes, blurring his vision.

A huge jaw opened, threatening to cut his leg and Marco couldn't even manage to cry for help. He closed his eyes, ready for the his fate, ready for the end.

But the excruciating pain never came.

There was a loud rumbling sound, like thunder shaking the ground and then a loud animal yelp.

When he opened his eyes, Marco couldn't see the crocodiles anymore, a huge black mass blocking his view. Jean's stallion had charged the reptiles, its ears flat back against its neck and its nostrils flared open on a menacing snarl. It reared and bucked like it was mad, possessed, scaring the crocodiles away, back into the water.

Another pair of hooves approached him in a much calmer pace and the mare was back, looking down to Marco as if inquiring about his condition. The young slave put all his strength into getting up, hauling Jean up too. He winced at the pain in his leg but didn't flinch. He patted the mare's neck with trembling fingers before putting Jean on her back with one last effort. The gentle mare didn't even move an ear as Marco difficultly got on her back too while making sure Jean didn't fall. Once they were settled, Marco took a deep shaky breath before he grabbed the mare's mane in one hand, the other holding Jean's waist, supporting his weight. 

“Please, bring us home” he whispered, voice raw and exhausted as he heeled his mount. 

Obeying, the mare set into a calm but powerful canter, her strides regular and careful, almost gentle, as if to ensure both boys on her back wouldn't fall.  
Soon, the black stallion joined her side. It seemed calmer than before but was still heavily snorting.   
Despite the extra weight on her back, the mare's strides didn't falter. The stallion stayed by her side, matching her pace as if to protect her, neighing softly from time to time in what sounded like an encouragement.   
When the palace came into view, there was blood on the mare's flank from Marco's injured calf, and on her shoulders too, this time coming from Jean's head, and whole mixed with the dirty marks already present on her coat, real dry blood impossible to distinguish from her natural dark brown marks. As they passed through the large palace's gates, a guard spotted them and Marco used his last forces to yell a heartbreaking: “Help! The prince is injured! Please!”.

In the courtyard, the mare slowed down to a walk and then a stop, breathing heavily, and the guards rushing to them was the last thing Marco saw as he felt his head spin and his vision blur, passing out from exhaustion a few seconds later.

–————

When he came back to his senses, Marco was lost as to where he was. He blinked but all he could see in front of him was a plain cracked beige ceiling. He could tell he was lying down horizontally and on a hard surface given how his back hurt. His body remembered that sensation and his mind informed him of it.

He was in the slave quarters.

Once he was done worrying about where he was, his thoughts flew to the place where his heart lay. Where was Jean? And was he alright?

Marco straightened up faster than lightning, but he was stopped when about to get up by a vivid pain in his foot when he put it down on the floor.  
He was injured, he remembered now. He looked down to his calf and frowned when he spotted a neatly dressed bandage.   
He didn't have time to think about who took care of him when a loud shattering noise broke the silence of the empty quarters.

“Marco! Thank Isis, you're awake!”

Bertholdt was standing a few feet away from Marco's makeshift bed, with dangling arms, a broken clay jug at his feet, water slowly spilling on the dusty floor, the obvious source to blame for the previous noise. 

“Where is Jean?” Marco gravely asked, his voice coming rough because of his dry throat. He didn’t even think of greeting his friend, nor thank him nor ask him for explanations about the situation.

Bertholdt's face dropped and he sighed before slowly coming closer to Marco, sitting beside him on the makeshift slave bed.   
Marco's heart was beating fast, his worried mind traitorously sending him images of all the worst possible outcomes. His eyes were glued to Bertholdt's lips, waiting for the answer that would either reassure him or shatter him like the clay jug on the floor.

“He's being taken care of” Was Bertholdt's careful answer. He gave Marco a second to process the information that Jean was alive, reading the relief in his eyes and relaxing shoulders before continuing with the hardest part of the news. “He's not awake yet, but the priests are optimistic. They believe he will be alright.”

Marco's gaze dropped instantly and he bit his quivering lip, close to tears from worry and also regret. He wished he had been able to prevent Jean's accident in some way, any way. He had saved Jean from drowning but to him, it wasn't enough. And in the slave quarters, so far away from his prince, forced to wait for a good news, he felt powerless.  
Bertholdt gently put his hand on his friend's shoulder, offering him silent comfort.

“I need to see him” Marco said after a few minutes with renewed determination. 

Bertholdt's eyes widened before he looked away, sweat beading on his forehead. “I'm not sure they will let you...”

Marco frowned. “But I was the one who brought him back! And I'm his-” He stopped himself before he could betray their secret relationship in the emotion of the moment. “his personal slave...” He sighed, defeated, feeling his eyes water. 

Bertholdt squeezed his shoulder. “I know. I know how much you both mean to each other.” He whispered, his voice soft. “But you have to think about your own health too. No army of priests will tend to you like they will with Jean” He added, and Marco wanted to cry because he didn't deserve such a caring friend. 

“Let's get you something to drink and eat alright? Then we'll meet up with Reiner and try to think of a way to get you to see Jean”

Marco nodded his agreement, then silently thanked Bertholdt’s kindness with another nod of his head, not trusting himself to be able to use words to show how grateful he was without crying.

–————

After gulping down at least two liters of water and engulfing the equivalent of a three course meal, Marco admittedly felt a bit better, and Bertholdt was glad. The lanky slave had been afraid his friend would refuse eating, fearing his worry about Jean would create knocks in his stomach. But it seemed like Marco's exhausted body's vital needs surpassed his mind's anxiety. Or maybe his friend was simply trying to drown his sorrow in food, he couldn't tell.  
And he didn't have time to dwell on it more as the familiar face that made him smile appeared in the kitchens.

“Reiner!” He exclaimed, unable to hide his excitement upon seeing his husband again. “Any news from Jean?” He quickly added, his words having Marco's head shoot up from the umpteenth glass of water he was nursing.

Reiner's expression was grave but not sad as he met Marco's eyes, and the young slave could tell, even though on a different level, his friends were worried about the prince too. 

“I wouldn't have gotten any if it weren't for Eren here”

Both Marco and Bertholdt's blinking eyes betrayed their surprise as Eren steps from being Reiner. The blond slave was so bulk that they didn't even see the guard apprentice enter the kitchens with him.

“He harassed that scary little mentor of his until we got updates on Jean's condition” Reiner continued, proudly clapping Eren on the shoulder, causing the smaller boy to hiss in slight pain.

“The priests sought Levi's advice as to what hit Jean in the head. He's not a healer but he knows a lot about wounds as well as poisons and dangerous creatures. I couldn't get much out of him but I gathered it would still be better than nothing” Eren's eyes fell onto Marco as he rubbed his bruised shoulder, and for once he wasn’t showing off, or playing around, his face lacking his usual devilish smile, and his yes only glinting with seriousness. 

“And so, what did you learn?” Bertholdt eagerly asked, checking Marco's reactions from the corner of his eye. His friend's unusual silence and neutral expression betrayed his anxiety and he hoped the news were good.

Eren and Reiner sat across Bertholdt and Marco at the table, and the burden of telling the news fell on Eren's shoulders.

“He's still unconscious. But he moves from time to time which is encouraging” The brunette started, painfully obviously avoiding to look at Marco. “They treated the wound on his head, which was pretty deep and massaged the water out of his lungs. He doesn't seem to have trouble breathing but they don't know how much damage his brain took...”

Marco had trouble processing those new pieces of information. He didn't know if they were positive or not. What if Jean never woke up? The worst case scenarios filled his mind again. Even if he woke up, what if Jean lost his ability to think, or to walk? Or to remember? Or to-

“Marco are you alright?” Reiner's voice was low and concerned and upon hearing it, Marco realized all eyes were on him. Or rather on the blood that trickled down his hand from where his nails were digging into his palm.

“Sorry” He whispered, his throat tight with sadness. “I-” He started but had to stop, tears threatening to escape his eyes, a heavy sob stuck in his throat. “I need to see him” He finally blurted out, voice trembling.

His friend's gazes fell in a second, showing him how much of a difficult task his wish would be to realize.

“I can try to ask Levi but I can't promise anything Marco.” Eren finally agreed to look at him, his eyes unusually hard, lacking their characteristic brightness. “You see, the priests suspect this accident could be an assassination attempt. And since you were the only person with Jean back then...” The green gaze dropped and Eren bit his lip. “You're the prime suspect in this whole case.”

Marco's mouth formed a silent gasp as shock and disbelief filled his already aching chest. “B-but that's absurd!” He vigorously protested. “I was the one who saved him! I-I was the one who brought him back!!” He almost shouted, internally cursing against the unfairness of this accusation. 

How could he hurt the person he loved so much?

“I'm not accusing you Marco, I perfectly know they're wrong for thinking you did it” Eren tried to appease the brunette's anger and sorrow. “Levi is trying to convince them it's the wrong hypothesis too. But for now, you better keep a low profile, okay?”

Marco clenched his fists in frustration but didn't say anything more. Eren was right, he knew it. If he tried to sneak up in Jean's room, he would probably raise more suspicions against himself. If he was too hastily judged guilty of attempted murder, he risked a death penalty. His blood turned cold at the though of being executed for a crime he didn't commit, without being given a chance to see Jean one last time.

Bertholdt's gaze was worried as he saw Marco's face pale and Reiner noticed it too.

“Maybe...” The blond started, trying to get everyone's attention, hoping he could lead their thoughts away from tragic possible outcomes. “I know it's hard but maybe you could tell us exactly what happened back there” He offered. “You're the only witness. The priests don't know the details of the accident, except that at some point Jean was hit on the head and given how soaked he was when you brought him back, he fell into the Nile too”

“Maybe more details about what happened could help them treat Jean better. I'll inform Levi of everything, he'll listen.” Eren added, nodding his agreement to Reiner's idea.

Marco ran a hand across his tired features before letting out a long exhausted breath. He didn't want to relive the events of the previous day, it was too painful, and reminded him too much of how useless he had been back then. Without the horses....  
He shook his head, gathering up his courage. He saved Jean from drowning and that was already something. Jean wasn't dead yet. Besides, even if it took time, even if his voice broke into sobs while he would explain how the accident went, it was nothing compared to how grateful he would be if these pieces of information could help treat Jean.

With a renewed determination to his deep tired brow eyes, he started telling his friend about everything he remembered.

–————

Waiting was hard. Harder than Marco expected. Three nights in a row he didn't sleep. He had gotten too used to the comfortable mattress of Jean's room and was bothered by the hard wood plank hurting his back. But of course it wasn't the main problem stopping his tired body and mind to go to rest.  
More than anything he missed the warmth of Jean's body next to him, his familiar scent, his light breathing, far more elegant than the other slave's heavy snores. Would he ever be able to feel Jean's skin against his ever again?  
Flashes of the accident played in front of his eyelids every time he closed his eyes and myriads of 'what if's clouded his brain, their loud noise making it impossible to think or to find the peace necessary to sleep.

The fact that he couldn't even see Jean, not witness the state he was in, and was left with only imagining him all bloody and maimed, twisted by his anxiety and vivid imagination was slowly killing him inside.  
He was a walking dead man, with empty eyes and angry purple bags under his eyes. He barely ate, feeling too dizzy from the lack of sleep to not throw up every minute, even on an empty stomach.   
His friends were worried, even in his haze he could tell. He regretted making them suffer like that when they were obviously already worrying for Jean too. But he couldn't help it, his attempts at reassuring them with smiling 'I'm fine's even stopping after the first 24 hours.  
He was sad and he was broken, like he was mourning when Jean was still part of the living. And even every one of Eren's attempts to cheer him up with promises of seeing his prince felt empty.

Because he knew they wouldn't let him in.

He was a slave. He was nothing, unworthy of being by the prince's side. Because no one knew how much he cared, how much he mattered. And no one wanted to hear about it.

—————

The fourth night, Marco abandoned the idea of even tossing and turning to try and find sleep. He was on his back, defeated, numb, his head slightly turned to the right so he could spot the moon from the small and only window in the whole slave quarters.

It was full again and the stone on his chest was glowing with the pale light of the celestial body. It had been only a month since the same moon brought him and Jean together. Yet it felt like an eternity. But it also passed by far too quickly and having Jean robbed away from him so soon made his heart ache even more.  
The strings of fate tying his destiny with the prince's pulled tighter at his every muscle, and like a puppet, mindlessly, he got up.  
He passed by the tangled figures of Reiner and Bertholdt, fast asleep in each others arms despite their preoccupied minds, and soon he was in the corridor leading to the princely bedroom, his feet moving on their own accord, knowing the way to where his heart belonged.

But upon standing in front of the prince's door, he was stopped by two crossed lances over the sculpted wood, belonging to two hostile guards.

“No one is allowed to enter without permission” One of them warned, taking his lance back before menacingly pointing it towards Marco.

“But I'm the prince's personal slave!” The brunette tried to argue. “I need to see him please, I beg of you, I just need to see him, a glimpse would be enough but please!”

“No exception” The guard severely denied his request, sending Marco on the verge of tears of frustration, sadness and exhaustion.

“Wait. You said personal slave.” The second guard, probably smarter than his colleague, asked. “Then you're suspected of putting him in this state in the first place! There is no way we're letting you in! Get away from here now or we'll have you thrown into the dungeons” He threatened with angry gestures of his free hand.

“But I-”

Marco didn't have time to finish when the heavy wooden door opened.

“What is all this ruckus guards! The prince needs rest and to rest he need peace and quiet”

Marco stepped back upon seeing none other than Pharaoh appear from the prince's room. The sovereign's supposedly shining and proud figure was bend under the weight of fatigue and worry, his complexion gray and his eyes small. His wrinkles were showing more than usual under the torches light and Marco realized he looked old like this. Not like a divine being, but just like a man, old and tired, almost sickly so. 

“We were trying to repel this intruder your highness, but he just wouldn't leave” The first guard explained. “What do you want done with him?”

A mix of surprise and acknowledgment painted Pharaoh's drawn features as he set eyes on Marco. But there was no anger in his slightly widening eyes. Still, out of respect, the young slave lowered his gaze.

“He is the primary suspect of the attempted murder your highness, we should be careful” The second guard cut the sovereign's silence.

Pharaoh raised his palm and both guards fell silent.

“I _know_ perfectly well who he is.» He cut the guards. « What an absurd and easy assumption it is to think this child would attempt to murder my son” He continued in a slow, strained voice. “Tell me guards, if you planned to kill someone, would you bring that person's still breathing body back to his home and ask for help?”

The first guard stayed silent and the other only shook his head.

« And why would you wait for months to do it outside the palace when you could have poisoned him or the likes, killing him easily any time without raising any suspicion? »

The guards didn’t answer, suddenly engrossed in watching their feet.

“I thought so. It's only logic” Pharaoh sighed. “Now that you have all the elements of this case, you can easily deduce that this slave is obviously no criminal, so please leave us alone”

The guards hesitated for a second, but once Pharaoh gave them an insistent stern look, they obeyed, quickly disappearing around the corner of a corridor. 

The sovereign turned back to Marco and the slave tensed. “T-thank you your Highness” He stuttered, not finding a more eloquent way to express his gratitude.

“I should be the one thanking you boy” 

That reply had Marco taken aback, air stolen from his lungs. Pharaoh, morning and evening star was thanking him, a worthless slave. It was unbelievable. Why would he?

“You have my eternal gratitude for saving my son from a certain death.” The sovereign tilted his head in thank, an almost imperceptible gesture, but with a heavy meaning. “I heard your testimony from one I trust and only the gods know what would have happened to the heir were you not by his side”

Marco still couldn't believe it; that Pharaoh, Jean's father believed and acknowledged him and his testimony. He didn't know what to say, mouth slightly agape in a not really elegant way.

“Your timing is impeccable. I doubt it is pure chance that put you in front of this door.” Marco shot the sovereign a questioning glance, lost as to what he meant, owning himself a deep strained chuckle. “The prince opened his eyes just a few minutes ago.”

The revelation made Marco's heart skip a beat and filled his eyes with a new light that didn't escape Pharaoh's sharp gaze.

“He keeps asking for you” The sovereign stated, his emotions unreadable as he pushed the door behind him open in a silent invitation for Marco.

The young slave hesitated, not certain what he ought to do. He wanted to see Jean really badly, and he couldn't believe Pharaoh was giving him permission. But he stayed frozen in his spot with wide eyes like a scared wild animal.  
However after a minute, carefully, under Pharaoh's encouraging gaze, he stepped forward, as if walking on eggs. The sovereign was patient with him, keeping an observing but not judging eye on him the whole time.

“I will see to it that no one disturbs the prince's rest from now on” Pharaoh whispered when Marco stepped inside the bedroom. “I'll count on you to keep taking care of him” Were his last words as he closed the door, trustingly leaving Marco alone with Jean. 

Aside from the full moon's glow, the room was lit by a single burning candle placed on the prince's bedside table. Jean's was lying on his side, towards the window, his back turned to Marco. A speckled form lay on top of him, its low purring the only sound breaking the silence of the dim room. Kiya's head shot up for a second, checking who the newcomer was. She soon recognized Marco and deemed he was no threat, so she quickly got back to draping herself over Jean in a way she was supposedly not allowed to, protecting him, and soothing him with her purrs.   
Marco suspected Pharaoh dismissed the priest's worries about Jean's allergies in favor of spoiling his healing son like one would a sick child, exceptionally allowing his pet to sleep with him. 

As the young slave moved closer to the bed, he spotted a chair on the other side of it, beneath the window. It was probably from there that Jean's father had watched over his son for days. How many sleepless nights did the sovereign spend on this simple wood seat, so far away from his regal marble throne?  
Marco approached that chair and sat down, trying not to make a sound. Jean's figure was immobile expect for the steady movement of his chest as he breathed. It seemed like he fell back into sleep. He must be exhausted.   
But seeing him was enough for Marco. He wished for that simple privilege for days, and he had trouble believing his prayers were heard. It reassured him to see Jean breathing, a concrete proof that life was still coursing through his veins. However the brunette frowned at the heavy bandages covering most of the prince's head, hiding away his ashen blond hair. His head wound must be pretty severe and it must have been deep given how much it bled that day.  
Marco bit his lips as images of an unconscious barely breathing Jean as heavy as death in his arms assaulted his mind. But he chased them away. Jean was fine now. He was taken care of by the most competent healers in all Egypt, and given how white his bandages were, he wasn't bleeding anymore which was a relief.

Jean twitched in his sleep, a frown troubling his peaceful features. He must be having a bad dream.   
With trembling, hesitating fingers, Marco reached out to him. He craved feeling Jean's skin under his fingers again, so he could be certain he was truly there, but at the same time, he was afraid he would vanish, slip through his fingers again like it all had been just a dream the second he reached for him. But it wasn't a dream and Jean's skin was as soft as ever as Marco gently caressed his forehead in a slow soothing motion, careful not to wake him.  
Jean's pained expression softened under the gentle touch but after a few minutes, he started blinking his eyes open. He had always been a light sleeper.   
Marco guiltily bit his lips again for waking Jean up, but his heart was excitedly beating in his chest, fluttering like that of a newborn bird with the prospect of having his love conscious in front of him.  
Tawny bleary eyes lazily opened, and a small tired smile was quick to reach the prince's lips.

“Marco” He whispered, voice raw from his probably dry as sand throat.

Marco could only nod, tears of relief forming at the corner of his eyes, glistening in the pale moonlight.

“How are you feeling?” He softly asked, affectionately combing the small visible part of Jean's messed up hair. He was still slightly worried about Jean's physical condition and, without freaking Jean out, he wanted to make sure that everything was alright. No lost sensations, no paralyzed muscles... No memory loss. The young slave gulped at that terrifying thought.

Jean leaned into Marco's touch but he soon groaned, the slight movement making his body ache. “I feel like I've been sleeping for years. And all my muscles ache” He grumbled, eyes closed from the pain.

Marco continued petting the prince's hair, hoping it could soothe him in some way, distracting him from the pain. “Well, you did sleep for almost five days...” He informed, not going into the details of the accident yet. He didn't want to relieve the memory and he especially didn't want to trouble Jean’s dull mind with assassination stories or how he almost died drowning when the prince was just starting to recover.  
Marco was snatched away from his thoughts when he felt a warm palm cover his unoccupied hand atop the bed sheets. His eyes met pale and tired tawny lights as Jean's fingers threaded with his.

“I'm glad you're here with me. I was afraid they wouldn't let you in...”

The fragility and distress with which Jean's voice was trembling made Marco's heart clench in his chest. And he immediately understood why Pharaoh let him in so easily, or why he allowed Kiya to sleep with Jean. One couldn't say no to a loved one who was so vulnerable and wanted something so genuinely.

“Your father let me in” Marco confessed, and although narrowed by fatigue, Jean's eyes slightly widened. “I wanted to see you so I waited outside the door, and he let me in” 

Jean blinked a few times before closing his eyes, but this time not from pain, a soft smile reaching his lips as he brought Marco's hand to his lips, leaving little butterfly kisses on his slave's knuckles. “I'm glad you're here” He repeated with a sigh, his warm breath tickling Marco's heated skin.  
The young brunette's heart was melting under the tender and loving touch, and he slowly relaxed into his chair. He was glad too. He was glad that he could be with Jean, glad that the prince looked fine and was out of danger for now.

They stayed silent for a while, basking in each others' presence, simply enjoying the peace of being together, satisfied to be there in the intimacy of the princely bedroom. Jean didn't ask questions about the incident, his mind probably too slow to think about it yet, or too eager to stay at peace to tackle the bruising subject before the sun rose, and Marco was completely fine with this turn of events. Jean still needed rest, that much was obvious given how his eyelids kept fluttering each time he fought against sleep. But he didn't want to leave the beautiful sight of Marco beside him, afraid he would vanish once out of his field of vision. The prince's hold on his slave's hand tightened.

“Promise you'll be there when I wake up” He whispered, already dozing off again.

Marco's gaze softened, protective, and he gave Jean's hair the most tender of his signature caresses. 

“I promise” He answered, leaning down to place a small kiss on Jean's forehead. 

After he let out a deep content sigh, the prince was quick to fall back into a healing slumber.

–————

At sunrise he was woken up by the door creaking opened, revealing an army of healers and priests. He fought tooth and nail for his spot in the room, hissing like an angry jackal mother, so far away from his harmless temper. But he wouldn't break his promise, and it weren't a few pompous priests that would stop him.  
At some point the guards were called, and they had to pick him off the ground to be able to drag him away. But he kept kicking and struggling to break free from their bruising grip, yelling at them like a mad man to unhand him, that the prince needed him. It took none other than Pharaoh to stop his tantrum.  
When the sovereign entered, despite the bags under his eyes and his grey complexion, the room fell silent, every cries of protest and every curses dying all at once. The order was simple and clear: “let the slave stay”, and the whole room didn't question it. Although Pharaoh earned himself a few nasty dark looks sent behind his back, in the mess of the room, he still found deep grateful brown eyes that quickly set back on his still asleep son. And like that, Marco kept his promise.

The brunette claimed the chair beside Jean's bed and during the whole day, he watched the tiring round trips of the healers, the priests, Pharaoh and several nobles coming with unnecessary presents and badly phrased recovery wishes. At some point Historia came to visit too, alongside a very well behaved Ymir, offering Jean various scented oils she claimed would help him heal better, and if not, at least relax him with their scent. Contrary to the other members of the court, she knew the prince well, he loved this kind of perfumes and body care lotions.  
Marco observed and stayed silent during the whole time. He knew his place and he was lucky enough already to be allowed in the princely room, so he kept a low profile. But when nobody was watching, he didn't restrain from stealing loving gazes and tender smiles towards Jean, which the prince weakly but gladly returned every single time.

It was clear that Jean was getting bored and fed up with all the people going in and out. It wasn't a favorable atmosphere for resting, so instead, although tired, Jean found other ways to occupy himself. And boredom really did bring out his most childish side, to poor the Marco's despair.   
When he wasn't playfully pinching Marco's thigh in surprise attacks where he snuck his hand under the blanket, the prince made silly faces and exaggerated impressions of the priests while they had their backs turned. He alternated between rolling and squinting his eyes, mimicking their old stares and then pursued his lips comically while making silly gestures with his hands too.   
Seeing such behavior made Marco sigh in disbelief, but at least it meant Jean wasn't feeling too bad and was on the right way to a quick recovery.

Despite how grateful he was for being able to stay by Jean's side, Marco was getting bored too, and so, in a moment of weakness, he took more interest in Jean's stupid things, which only encouraged the prince further. A small giggle escaped him as Jean mimicked the High priest's arrogant and pompous bearing, and the young slave was quick to cover his mouth with his hand, alarmed that their mockery would be discovered.   
But Jean, although plainly aware of his slave's struggle to keep quiet, devilishly continued his impression. Marco looked away, biting at the inside of his cheek to contain his laughter and strongly waving his hand for Jean to stop when a voice made cold sweat run down his spine.

“Do you think the prince's condition is a laughing matter slave?!” The High Priest spit, turning away from his previous concoction business to menacingly approach the bed.

Ashamed, Marco didn't dare look at him, looking down instead, almost trembling under his booming aggressive voice. When angry, the priest was quite a scary man, and the last thing he wanted was to be expelled from the room because he was being disrespectful. 

“You're lucky enough to be allowed in here where you don't belong, and yet you disrespect the ones being so good to your worthless existence. You should be ashamed of yourself!” The old Nick continued his lecture and with each word Marco shrank more on his chair.   
He wanted to disappear. He couldn't stand being talked down like this, but how could he defend himself? He couldn't possibly tell the priest that _he_ had been the subject of his laughing. Honesty was a virtue but in this case telling the the truth would be terribly rude and disrespectful.

“Marco didn't mean to pay me any disrespect” Jean interrupted the priest's rage fit, his expression serious now, the only face he pulled being the scowling one. “I know him now and to be honest he's a bit simple minded you see, and he has this strange habit of laughing when he's nervous, he can't help it” He blatantly lied without batting an eyelid.   
Marco’s eyes widened at that remark. Although he was glad that Jean came to his rescue, he didn’t quite like being called simple-minded. He hoped the prince didn’t truly mean his words.

“And what could possibly make him nervous my prince?” Nick turned his attention to Jean, obviously not convinced. 

Jean straightened up on his bed, leveling his gaze with that of the priest before he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I don't know, probably the scary dead animal skin you're wearing, or the way you raise your voice for nothing” He arrogantly replied; making Marco bit his lip in apprehension.

The priest turned an angry shade of red before he scoffed. “Well if I am so unwanted here, I better leave, contrary to some, I know how to tell when I am not at my place.” He coldly answered; giving Marco one last icy glance before he turned back to Jean. “My prince, I gather your health must be getting better given how lively you seem. I suppose the beverage I was preparing you won't be necessary” He continued, slightly more courteous but just as bitter behind his honeyed words. “But please don't come whining if you feel any pain in the future days”

The door slammed shut behind the High Priest as he stormed out, and after a few seconds, both boys burst into laughter. Not from mockery this time, but more from relief.   
Marco buried his face into the thick blankets of Jean's bed, trying to smother his giggle fit into it. The prince was the first one to recover, and after rubbing the laughing tears away from his eyes, he gently patted Marco’s still trembling back to help him calm down. Once his laughing fit had died for good, Marco looked up, gracing Jean with a broad smile.

« Thank you » He simply said. « I have to admit I was really scared of the High Priest. But I feel a bit bad for laughing at him… » 

Jean scoffed at his slave’s gentle and caring nature. « Don’t worry, the only thing we hurt was his ego and I’m sure he has enough of it left to last him for all eternity » The prince reassured with another chuckle, waving his free hand dismissively.

Marco nodded but still felt slightly guilty. He wasn’t fond of the priest, but that didn’t mean he deserved to be mocked. He made note to not let Jean’s playful and sometimes almost mean side rub on him. He felt like it was his duty to keep Jean’s behavior on the right side, and to teach him what was acceptable to laugh at and what was not. Then, another matter came back to his mind.

« You… » He started, chewing on his lower lip, obviously bothered. « You didn’t mean it when you said I was… simple-minded? » He asked in a small hesitant voice.

The second the brunette spoke, Jean’s expression fell and he turned pale, making Marco fear he was feeling dizzy from his accident’s aftershock again. But the young slave didm’t have time to inquire about the prince’s health for two strong hands cupped his cheek , their hold firm but still incredibly gentle, forcing him to look into wild alarmed tawny eyes.

« Of course I didn’t mean it Marco! » Jean half scolded, half whined, his hold tightening on Marco’s face, as if trying to knock some sense into him. « You’re smart and witty and you know so much more than most of the nobles, or even the priests in this whole palace! »

Marco averted his eyes, feeling his cheeks warm up under the compliments Jean was lavishing him with. Although he knew Jean was sincere, not doubting his honesty, he had trouble believing he was as incredible as the prince claimed him to be.

« And even if you’re not the smartest person in entire Egypt, I -» Jean frowned before licking his lips to try and ease the words out. « I still love you, for who you are, as a whole. My vision of you is probably not objective at all, but to me, you’re amazing!» he blurted out rapidly, his cheeks tinted pretty pink.

Marco’s heart skipped a beat in his chest upon hearing the three words they didn’t tell each other again since that night beside the Nile. A rush of warmth filled his chest and he didn’t know what to do with his overflowing emotion. So he jumped on Jean, hugging him tightly, repeating those three words back as he buried his face in Jean’s chest.  
The prince fell back onto the mattress from the intensity of Marco’s loving embrace and he quietly winced, his muscles protesting against the tight hold. But he didn’t do anything to stop his slave, instead securely wrapping his arms around him, almost purring from the satisfaction of being this intimate again.

« I’m so glad you’re here Jean. I was so worried for you when you fell off your horse » Marco muttered against the warmth of Jean’s skin, feeling a new wave of relief mixed with unavoidable sorrow wetly prickle the corner of his eyes.

« I’m sorry » Jean replied, not knowing what more to say. He could hardly imagine how much suffering his accident caused Marco, but he still regretted making him go through it. 

« Don’t apologize, it wasn’t your fault » Marco reprimanded, looking up from his comfortable hiding place. 

Jean chuckled at his slave’s caring attitude. It was incredible how Marco refused to see him suffer and always put all the strain on himself. He wished he could take a bit of the burden off his lover’s shoulders. He still had a lot to learn but he wanted to help, to share the weight that sometimes threatened to crush the courageous freckled brunette he was holding. « You’re right, it was just an accident after all. Just back luck.» He whispered, trying to be reassuring while stroking the brunette’s back soothingly.

But Marco still tensed. _Just bad luck._ He wished it was only that.  
Jean didn’t know the details of the accident, wasn’t aware that it could have been an assassination attempt. Marco promised himself that he would clarify this whole case. He would search without letting up until he made sure the person who made an attempt on Jean’s life, if there was really one, would be arrested.  
However for now, he made the most of his time alone with Jean, enjoying the feeling of having him close again.

As the night’s veil fell onto the sky, no more healers or priests came to visit, and the boys fell into the comfort of being with one another again, holding each other, exchanging tender caresses while talking about nothing and everything, until the moonlight urged them to get some rest. Marco swiftly snuck into Jean’s bed, silently invited by the prince where he belonged, and together, they had no trouble finding the peace of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thankfully, everyone is safe, and no cliffhanger this time! I really enjoyed writing the action scene in the beginning of the chapter, hope it was as thrilling as intended.   
> I'd love to hear what you think hit Jean's head if you have any theories? Only Levi knows for now ^^.
> 
> Murder attempt? Simple accident? You will know in next chapter! (or maybe not, we'll see XD)
> 
> Anyway, see you next time, and thank you everyone again for reading my modest fic :)


	15. Staying away from Sobek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter is here, thank you again for commenting and leaving kudos on this work, it's thanks to you that I can move on and do my best to finish this story.   
> Things are getting longer than expected to write (I hope it's because I'm improving XD) so I don't think the fic will be finished in 20 chapters like planned but maybe a few more.
> 
> I got a super lovely fanart from princess-rinatenshi on tumblr [here](http://princess-rinatenshi.tumblr.com/post/128026884549/a-small-doodle-of-egyptian-au-jean-and-marco-as-a). Thank you again!  
> I'm glad this scene with the flower crown inspired a lot of you guys, I put my soul into writing it ^^

The more Jean stayed in bed, the more insufferable he got. Like Marco had already experienced in the past, the prince was a terrible patient. Once he was well enough to stop spending the day in bed in a comatose state, Jean started complaining about one and every treatment he had to suffer throughout the day. He refused the ointments for his head, telling the healers that he was healing fine and that their concoctions “stank and stung” while crossing his arms over his chest and pouting like a child throwing a tantrum. It took a lot of patience from Marco to persuade the prince to accept the numerous bandages and poultices that were only there to help him get better sooner. And the young slave's best selling point was that if Jean satisfied the healers, they would probably let him get out of his room soon enough; an argument to which the blond couldn't do anything but consent.

Jean was used to luxury but he wasn't an indoors person, and being in his room, confined to bed for days was driving him crazy, even with Marco's soothing presence by his side. And his only truly enjoyable distraction, beside calm conversations and sleep when he was tired, was to tease his beloved slave. And not to flatter himself, but he was really good at it.  
First, he got Marco to feed him at every meal. It had been simple, his slave was so worried about him getting weak from starvation that he almost immediately agreed. At some point Jean felt a slight pang for making his slave worry about his well being so much, but he was sure that Marco secretly enjoyed feeding him. On his side, Jean loved to see the small blush creep onto freckled cheeks each time he took the spoon in his mouth, he couldn't get enough of it, and for once, meals were enjoyable and awaited.   
It was the great life for Jean; being treated like this, spoiled by Marco who snatched his favorite dates away for him when the priests had their backs turned. He had to admit he was probably taking advantage of the situation a bit too much. But he would apologize for it later, for now, he had to make the most of it. 

Marco took every one of Jean's new whims as a sign the prince was feeling better. Indeed, one couldn't be so mischievous when nearing death. The young brunette forgave and endured the prince's demands with his signature good nature and patience. The caring slave understood it must be hard for Jean, being stuck inside when he could at least be allowed small walks around the palace; the prince must be missing the fresh breeze of the outside. Marco found the priests and healers a bit too excessive when it came to Jean's almost quarantine restriction order, but he didn't voice his opinion, not wanting to raise any conflicts or tensions after the already tiring accident he was trying to forget. 

 

After a week in bed, Jean was _definitely_ feeling better. At least that was what Marco deduced from the way the blond was far too diligently and suggestively licking and sucking on the wooden spoon he was using to feed him.

“J-Jean, stop doing that!” The brunette stuttered, cheeks flaring as he retrieved the spoon and clumsily put it down on the beside table alongside the almost empty bowl of soup he was holding. 

“Doing what?” Jean asked innocently, but the cocky smile on his face and the way he licked his lips clean of invisible soup remains showed he knew exactly what he had been doing. Which was : trying to get Marco all red by making him remember their first time in bed together with his skilful spoon blowing skills. 

“You know what!” Marco whined, his cheeks burning even more, incapable of using the precise words to describe the gesture Jean had been mimicking without dying of embarrassment. Besides, it would please the prince far too much “That's it, if you're feeling lively enough to act like an idiot, then you're lively enough to eat by yourself, I'm not feeding you again” He decided, pointedly crossing his arms over his chest.

Jean's eyes widened, this wasn't the intended result of his little stunt. “No, Marco please, I like it when you feed me” It was the prince's turn to whine, giving his slave his best pleading eyes.  
But Marco didn't buy it at all. “What are you, a baby?” He asked, raising a sceptical eyebrow. “Don't you think you've taken advantage of the situation for long enough?”

Jean had to admit his slave was right. It was no surprise to him that Marco had seen through his little act, and he quickly gave up on his fleeting privilege with a sigh, letting himself fall back onto his pillow. He closed his eyes and ran a tired hand through his hair and across his face, trying to rub the fatigue and boredom away, but in vain.

“Staying in here one more day is going to drive me mad.” He muttered, his legs jittering, too much energy coursing through him, his body begging for long awaited action, movement, anything that involved using his muscles for once. 

“I'm sure they will let you out soon” Marco reassured, gently patting the prince's thigh. “The priests said you were almost out of infection danger so hang on just a few more days”

Jean opened his eyes, looking through outstretched fingers to not miss Marco's radiant smile.

“You know the only reason I am still sane is because you are here with me” He whispered, eyes intense with sincerity, and the pink that dusted Marco's cheeks was even prettier than before so much it was honest too.

“I didn't do anything special...” The brunette denied, nervously intermingling his fingers, taking a sudden deep interest in looking at his fingernails.

“Don't say that” Jean interrupted, sitting up on the bed and putting an elegant hand over Marco's joined rougher ones. “If it weren't for you I wouldn't even be here today”

Marco gulped. In the last week, he ended up satisfying Jean's eventual curiosity about the incident. The prince didn't remember anything beside a sudden pain and falling from his horse. Marco told the truth, and didn't keep any detail from Jean (well except for how he was at first suspected of attempted assassination, he didn't want to anger the prince). But he still couldn't accept Jean's gratitude. He did what had to be done, in an almost selfish way. Because where would _he_ be if Jean was gone?

“Marco”

Jean's voice was soft but still made Marco start, his eyes quickly looking up to meet tender tawny ones, unexpectedly close. Jean gently pressed his forehead against Marco's, slowly rubbing their noses together.

“I know I'm not the only one who suffered from this” The prince whispered, his breath mingling with Marco's shaky inhales. “But we'll be fine, it was just a little bump in the path, nothing we can't overcome yes?”

Marco nodded, his eyes shut tight, his throat tightening. The way Jean joined the both of them by using “we”, making their relationship more concrete, more real made his heart clench with exquisite pain. He started shaking. When was the last time he let go of all the tension and stress from the previous days?   
He realized there wasn't one. He wished Jean wasn't the one witnessing him so crumbling and weak; but who best could piece him back together?

Jean cupped the brunette's cheek and placed a light kiss on the corner of Marco's trembling lips. His affection was answered with desperate fervour as Marco swiftly crashed their lips together, almost bruising, his gentleness swallowed by a torrent of tumultuous emotions. He held Jean in place with his hands on the back of his skull, his lips moving hungrily, too fast, needing to feel Jean against him to make sure he was truly there, even after a week. The prince, although surprised by this unusual behaviour, let Marco control the kiss as he pleased before kissing back, trying to slow things down and to calm Marco's worries. Jean was doing his best to be gentle, handling his lover like he was made of glass threatening to break between his fingers and leave him bleeding inside. He was still a novice and slightly awkward when it came to comforting people, but he did his best, for Marco. He broke the kiss, making sure to leave one last peck on Marco's pretty flushed lips before standing up, leaving the bed despite the healers advice to stay tucked in a few more days. But it didn't matter, he only wanted to make a few steps, it wouldn't kill him, and it was for a noble cause. It was for Marco, it was important.

His legs shook for a second, wobbly and weak from a week without being used. Marco's mouth formed a surprised and worried “oh”, but he didn't have time to lecture Jean for a gasp was pulled out of him when Jean swiftly straddled him, shamelessly sitting on his lap. In a second, a shy arm encircled the brunette's waist, and a gentle hand pressed his head against Jean's warm chest, stroking his hair in an attempted soothing motion. Jean's hold on him was tight but still unsure, and it made it even more meaningful to Marco.

No words were needed and a comfortable silence filled the room as Marco let himself melt into Jean's embrace, breathing in his familiar scent and letting his warmth appease him. Jean placed a soft kiss on top of Marco's messy dark hair and the brunette sighed his worries away.   
Seeing Jean so caring made Marco's chest burst with love, and although he knew his lover was capable of such tender gestures, he still appreciated them for their rarity. Even though he had been rather needy before, in this suggestive position Jean was offering him nothing more than his unadulterated affection, without asking for anything in return but to see Marco's smile again. And it was exactly what the young slave needed at the moment.

Despite past hardships, they were together, and Marco wanted to believe that together they were stronger. Yes, as long as they were together, he was sure they could make it through anything, whether murderers or nature's hazards, whether jealous stares or angry rants, they would make it.

“We'll be fine” He whispered against Jean's smooth skin, almost to himself.

–--------

“A bird attack?!” Marco almost shouted, his voice echoing against the marble walls of the large empty hall of the Anubis temple.

“Quiet!” Levi hissed, holding up his spear almost menacingly. “This is a sacred place, respect it! You're not even allowed to be here!”

Marco's head shot down under the little man's scolding. Levi was very scary when angry, his frown deepening and his dark eyes narrowing impossibly. In addition, the black long eared jackal head helmet he wore, symbolizing a god of death was no help in making him look softer. 

Despite being forbidden from entering the temples, Eren had helped Marco snick up into Levi's workplace. While Pharaoh had requested alone time with Jean, the young slave docilely agreed to leave the princely bedroom to instead investigate Jean's accident. And who better than Levi could answer his most basic question: “What hit Jean in the head in the first place?”

And the answer had proven to be “probably a bird”

Although his gaze was kept low, Marco's eyes were wide with surprise. Why would a bird attack a human? He never heard of such a thing being possible. Maybe Egyptian birds were different, more aggressive species than those cheerfully chirping in the trees of his homeland. In Marco's mind, birds were cute fluffy creatures, even birds of prey weren't classified as threats to him.  
Many questions filled his head, but he let Eren do the talking, the guard apprentice much more used to handling Levi's short temper. 

_Probably shorter than the man himself_ Marco thought with a small wicked smile before he shook his head. Jean's devilish side was really starting to rub off on him; he had to be careful to stay in his place. Especially when Levi agreed to give a mere slave like him information about the prince's accident... Despite his scary looks, the guard was a good man; a man Marco wanted to trust.

“What do you mean a bird attack? Why would a bird do that?” Eren asked, his tone unusually gentle and respectful, trying to coax Levi into developing his answer. 

Levi shot Eren the darkest glare Marco ever witnessed, but the ex-dancer didn't flinch and the guard finally answered his question. “What I mean is that the wound on the prince's head was definitely caused by claws. Ugly lacerations. Impossible to be caused by a blunt or even a sharp object like a rock or another projectile.” He turned his sharp eyes to Marco, making the slave tense. “And given how you described the attack, the object came from the sky, so everything cat or dog related had to be eliminated.”   
Marco nodded, drinking up Levi's reasoning. He was impressed, the man knew what he was talking about, and his logic was unquestionable.

“It isn't uncommon for birds of prey to attack men who get too close to their eggs. It often happens during nesting season.” Levi added with a small shrug. “So my deduction is 'bird of prey attack'. Although I can't be more precise as to what particular specie was involved.” He continued, waving his hand dismissively. “But I would personally dismiss crows. They tend to go for the eyes first”

Marco winced at the thought of Jean being blinded in his eyes by dark birds, and he had to shake his head to chase the frightening and gory images of his beautiful Jean being savagely maimed. He couldn't believe how Levi could discuss such gloomy subjects with a straight face as well as almost a hint of a smirk; just like he was enjoying it. 

But as Eren profusely thanked Levi for the information he just gave and also the precious time he granted them, some small detail made Marco wonder. This explanation didn't quite work as well as he first thought. 

“I may be mistaken... but it isn't nesting season at all...” He cautiously said, eyes searching Levi's, unsure of what that detail could imply.

Eren looked lost but Levi smirked. “Not bad” He whispered. “Not bad for a domestic slave...” The petite man continued, handing his spear for Eren to hold before he walked closer to Marco, stopping just in front of the brunette.   
Even though he was smaller than him, Marco felt like the guard was looking down onto him and he instinctively lowered his gaze.

“You weren't educated in the palace right?” The guard curiously asked. Even if it was clear from his looks and built that he wasn't Egyptian, Marco could have been from a foreign lineage of slaves who had been living in the palace for generations; but the slave denied it with a shake of his head. “Explains why you are sharper than someone like Eren” The guard scoffed and Marco saw Eren pout at the cutting remark. However, Levi's eyes didn't leave Marco's face, his piercing gaze making the slave more and more uncomfortable.

“You're right, nesting season is long since over... And do you think there are many trees to accommodate nests on the sand of the Nile's bank?” The guard asked and Marco was starting to get where this conversation was going. Levi didn't buy the accident explanation.

Marco's eyes darkened, filling with determination and the guard looked satisfied with his reaction, turning back to him.

“I was asked to examine the prince's wound and find out what caused it, nothing more.” Levi said as he retrieved his too big for him spear from Eren. “I won't get involved in the prince's affairs but a snake attack and a bird attack only a few months apart sounds like an extreme case of bad luck...” The guard's sharp gaze met Marco's one last time, darkly glinting with the implications of his words. “Should I be close to the prince, maybe I would try to remedy the situation.”

Marco nodded, his head raised for once and his firsts clenching at his sides with dark determination. “I will see to it that this bad luck strike comes to an end”

–--------

As they left the temple, it was with a grave voice that Marco thanked Eren for accompanying him. But the young slave otherwise stayed silent, absorbed in his racing thoughts.

“Eh Marco” Eren called out to him, his voice uncharacteristically unsure as he finally put together the pieces of the puzzle Levi and Marco were already much more advanced in “You and Levi... You aren't possibly envisaging Jean's accident to be an assassination attempt?”

Marco couldn't give Eren one of his usual smiles, couldn't reassure him about that scary possibility. This matter was too serious and since the priests seemed too dense or too uninterested to care, he would make it a personal affair to clarify who wanted Jean disposed of. Whoever even thought about hurting the prince would have to face justice and take responsibility for his acts, he would make sure of it. 

“I'm not envisaging anymore” He coldly replied and Eren paled.

–-------

The following day, Jean was allowed to leave his room. Marco suspected the prince had begged his father to intervene with the priests so much he was getting tired of just sitting around in his room.  
But whether his intuition was right or not, the young slave was glad for the prince. And so, he left the criminal investigations he put upon himself for later, and accompanied Jean wherever he wanted during the whole day.

The prince's steps were careful but excited as they left the long marble corridors and blinked at the pale light of the autumn's sun. They walked through the already slowly dying gardens, but still rejoiced at the trees and flowers' beauty. They took their time and took several breaks whenever Jean needed them.   
The prince's muscles were still weak from days of inactivity, and his head wasn't completely healed yet, unexpected migraines probably caused by too much light too quickly making his head spin and forcing him to sit down from time to time.  
Marco would patiently wait for Jean during those unfortunate fits, giving him water while carefully stroking him ashen blond hair to soothe the pain. 

Despite their slow pace, they still made progress, and when Jean insisted they went to the stables, Marco indulged his pleading look, even though the demand was probably unreasonable, the walk to the stables too long for a first day outside.   
But they made it there, although Marco sometimes had to catch Jean as he tripped over rocks or bumps in their path. The prince had a bit of difficulty lifting his feet high enough to avoid them, and Marco feared it had to do with the trauma on the blond's head. Biting his lower lip worriedly, the brunette hoped this little handicap would regress with time; and if possible rather quickly. 

Even as Jean nuzzled his black stallion's nose affectionately, crooning to the horse that it wasn't his fault and that he would soon be able to ride him again, Marco felt guilty. Some part of him was still convinced that he had a part of responsibility in Jean's accident, and even the prince's bright smile, one he hadn't seen in days, filled with the joy of finally being outside again, couldn't completely melt the ice sitting deep in his stomach. 

The walk back to the palace was silent, Jean being physically exhausted by the fresh air and the physical activity, while Marco was mentally tormented, lost deep in thoughts of birds of prey and conspiracy theories. The brunette was distracted, and when Jean stumbled and fell over yet another insignificant rock, he couldn't catch him.  
The prince had the reflex to put his hands in front of himself, and the fall didn't look too violent, but still, Jean groaned in pain, cursing as he rolled onto his side in the sand, a hand rubbing his sore face. Marco paled, acid guilt crawling up his throat. In a second he was on his knees in the sand, hands hovering over Jean.

“Jean, are you alright?” He asked, worry too palpable in his voice.

Jean didn't respond, but he made a noise deep in his throat, akin to a sob. Marco's eyes widened before he frowned, drawing blood for his already bitten lip.   
The brunette gently took Jean's hand, slowly moving it away from his hidden face. He was met with tawny eyes shining with tears and seeing Jean in such a state made his heart ache.

“Why did this have to happen to me” Jean whispered, his lips trembling with chagrin. “What did I do wrong to deserve being weakened so?”

Marco closed his eyes to hold back his own tears. He had to stay strong for Jean. The prince was having a break down from fatigue and frustration, but things would get better. At least Jean was still alive, and the blond was aware of how lucky he was already. But after the memory of the accident started to fade, that gratefulness towards the skies faded too, and his recovery was taking too much time to his liking, it was clear. It was easy telling how much Jean was excited to go out, but facing how he wasn't completely recovered yet was hard, and the blond was probably afraid things wouldn't never return to what they were before, his body marked with sequelas for the rest of his life.

“I'm scared I won't be able to ride or fence again.” Jean sobbed confirming Marco's worries. “I don't want to be dependant anymore. The people could never accept a weak and crippled Pharaoh...”

Those words gave Marco a pang. He completely understood Jean's anxiety upon realizing he wasn't completely up and about after more than a week in bed. But the prince's body needed time to recover and he shouldn't be too impatient.

“Jean, give yourself time. It's only been a week.” The freckled brunette crooned, trying to be reassuring as he gently stroking the prince's cheek, wiping the tears away from his soft skin. “You're going to get better, it's only your first day out” Marco leaned down to press his forehead against Jean's. The soft exhale the prince let out proved he was relaxing and his slave continued lavishing him with soothing words. “You're tired so things seem impossible but I'll help you get there. Even if it takes time you'll do those things you love again.” The brunette pressed two fleeting kisses on his prince's now closed eyelids. “And you'll be a great Pharaoh, whether crippled or not, you have the heart for it, I'm sure of that”

Jean's sobs grew stronger. He was touched by Marco's words and he needed a good cry to relax completely, letting all his frustration and worries out. “You're saying that but you're far from being objective” He whispered between shaky breaths, but still wrapped his arms tight around Marco's waist, bringing his slave's soothing warmth closer. 

They stayed in the sand for a while, embracing each other, Marco whispering sweet nothings in Jean's ear until the prince's sobs receded and he was feeling better enough to complain about the sand chafing his skin.   
As the sun slowly set, Marco helped Jean up, and this time he kept his arm securely wrapped around the blond's waist, insuring no other inconvenient fall would occur.   
They didn't talk much on the way back, but one thing was for sure. Given how Jean gently squeezed the hand resting on his waist and kept leaning towards his slave for shy stolen kisses, he was definitely feeling a bit better.

–--------

Jean's next wish upon returning inside the palace was a good bath.  
During his bed seclusion, he didn't get to take any baths, instead being washed with a simple lukewarm water bucket and towels by random slaves hired by the healers. At least that was until he had gotten Marco to wash him instead, with pleading eyes, cute pouts and tired sighs. The young slave had accepted, definitely unable to resist the poor bed ridden prince, and he had proven to be far more gentle with the washing than the previous slaves, which Jean appreciated. Marco had been washing him so diligently and carefully each day of the passed week that the young prince didn't even dare once disrespecting his gem of a slave with suggestive demands. Even though the gods knew he was craving more intimate touches with the cute freckled brunette, and restricting himself had been hard and draining out his already not so good mood.

However, in the princely bathroom, once he discarded his Shendyt as well as his unpleasantly sandy underwear, Jean didn't think about seizing the occasion to try and engage into pleasantly intimate time with Marco. Both of their minds were elsewhere; Jean was too exhausted to do more than sit immobile into his warm milk bath, and Marco was still disrupted by the conversation he had with Levi the day before as he stood by the bath's edges.

Jean sighed contently, sinking further into the warm ass milk. But even with his body and mind slowed down by fatigue, his sharp eyes still caught his slave's slight frown. The small wrinkle between Marco's brows was almost imperceptible; but to the prince who loved gazing upon those usually soft features, it was clear that something was bothering his slave. And he feared that something was him. The last thing Jean wished was that his slave worried himself sick by his fault. He bit his lip at the fresh memory of Marco crying on the creaking chair beside his bed, the tears in those gorgeous brown eyes created by none other than himself. 

“Standing here without moving must be uncomfortable” The prince hesitantly started, his voice weak as he tried to get his slave's attention. “Especially after we walked all day...”

Marco blinked twice, his expression puzzled, like Jean just interrupted some deep inner reasoning. 

“I'm fine” The young slave replied with a smile half genuine half forced which didn't make a good job at convincing the prince.

Jean shifted in the bath, creating small undulating waves on the milk's surface. “Maybe...” He started before nervously running a hand through his hair. “Maybe a good bath could still do you some good.” He offered. “There's enough space in here for you and me both”

Marco's eyes widened at Jean's proposition to share the bath and a small blush tinted his cheeks. He really wanted to try the milk bath, and the basin was large enough for them to stay out of reach of each other; but he'd still have to be naked, and it was kind of embarrassing. 

“I know you wanted to try the bath so here's your chance” Jean tried to convince his obviously hesitant slave. Once the prince saw the blush on Marco's cheeks, he quickly waved his hands in front of him, as if to prove himself innocent of some sort of crime. “I promise I'm not thinking about making a move on you. My intentions are pure, I swear.” He blurted out, although the thought of having Marco naked in the bath with him was suddenly making his ears burn. “I... I just want you to relax and have a good time” He almost whispered, his arms falling to his sides in defeat as he calmed down.

Marco smiled softly at how adorable Jean was. He was touched by the prince's caring attitude towards him, and it made his last hesitations vanish into thin air.

“Alright, you've convinced me.” His smile grew bigger as Jean's down expression turned into delight. “It is true that I am curious about this skin friendly milk bath” He added as his hands moved down, to undo his Shendyt.

As the linen fabric fell to the floor, Jean couldn't take his eyes off Marco's strong thighs, remembering with a bad timing how they felt thrown over his shoulders. At this rate, he would have troubles keeping his offer innocent. 

“Jean, can you close your eyes until I'm in. T-this is embarrassing” The young slave stuttered, his face growing redder than before.

This remark far from discouraged Jean from his admiration of Marco's body, and instead, it brought up his more playful side. “What are you embarrassed about? I've already more than seen everything that's under those garments” He teased, delighted with how quickly Marco's blush darkened.

Marco grumbled something about not so innocent offers and perverted princes, but he got rid of his underwear anyway, although refusing to meet Jean's burning gaze as he did so. Then he quickly stepped into the bath before Jean's deep tawny eyes on him combined with the memories of previous intimate time the prince just awakened made his skin tingle with a warmth he wouldn't be able to control. 

The young slave didn't regret accepting his prince's offer.

The milk's temperature was perfect, not too hot and not too cold, and although its thickness felt weird at first, it proved to be extremely more pleasant than simple water after a few minutes in.   
Marco let his muscles relax and slid further into the warm liquid, until it was leaving a white trail down his neck. He closed his eyes, his mind progressively emptying; worries, sorrow, birds and murderers soon forgotten, replaced by a pleasant fog thick with the flowery scents of Jean's various bathing oils. 

“This is heaven” The brunette almost moaned, closing his eyes. He never got to bath in anything else than cold river water so this drastic change was a bliss. He mentally praised Jean for his idea and even thanked the skies for sending him to Egypt so much this luxurious experience was precious and appreciable for him. 

“I'm glad you like it” Jean warmly whispered, his smile visible in his voice, even with Marco's closed eyes. “But you sound like you never had a bath before” He added, slightly amused.

Marco opened his eyes, blinking in surprise at Jean's remark. “Well, I never bathed in milk... or in warm water...” The brunette confessed “Or in a basin” He added, nodding thoughtfully. 

Jean straightened up with a disbelieving sound, his sudden movements making the bath's surface wrinkle and Marco tensed at the unexpected agitation. “Really?! Then how did you wash yourself?” The prince asked, voice louder than he wanted.

“With a cold water bucket and a rag” Marco swiftly replied, like it was obvious. But what was a simple truth for the brunette made the prince's jaw drop, unbelieving. He had trouble imagining how his slave could have spent his entire life washing with unpleasantly cold water, when only suffering that treatment for a week already had him disgusted of it.

Marco chuckled at Jean's incredulously wide eyes. “What did you expect? I come from a poor family. I am sure most Egyptians do not get the luxury of taking baths either”

It was Marco's turn to be surprised by how little Jean seemed to know about the life of the common people. It was a shame really, a future sovereign should be aware of his people's lifestyle as to make good decisions; or at least realize the impact some decisions could have on the majority of his kingdom's population.  
Spending most of his life in the palace, surrounded by nobles and royalty, it was easy to forget the crowds of often hungry and dirty peasants filling the fertile lands of Egypt. Marco wished he could open Jean's eyes to the real face of his country, to the poverty, but also the joys of a simpler life. He promised himself to try and raise his promising prince's awareness on those important lessons and values; so once he would become a ruler, Jean's gentleness and understanding would be praised throughout Egypt. 

Jean seemed lost in thoughts, his expression stuck on a frown as he processed the pieces of information his slave just gave him. Marco was glad to know his words had an impact on Jean, but he still found the prince's sudden silence uncomfortable. So he tried to lighten up the mood, playfully splashing a few drops of milk on the prince's face.  
Jean started before grumbling a few incomprehensible swears, rubbing his face to wipe the milk off.

“Thank you for sharing your bath with me” Marco's smile was so bright it made Jean's bad mood disappear in an instant, and replaced it with a faint blush.

Satisfied that he got Jean's attention back, Marco relaxed again, letting himself slip further into the warmth of the bath. “This is really nice...” He breathed, his cheeks reddening from the warm atmosphere and also from the intensity with which Jean was watching him now. 

His fingers idly playing with the milk, dipping them into it before taking them out, creating little waterfalls into his hand, Marco contemplated the last time he bathed at home. “Back home I used to bath in a small river during summer. The water was clear and fresh, and it was incredibly pleasant after a long day of work under the burning sun.”

Jean drank every word of his slave's anecdote, his eyes glued on Marco, fascinated by milk covered freckled fingers. “Uh-uh” Was the only sound the prince could make to acknowledge Marco's words.

Jean's brainless state made his slave chuckle again. “When the days get hot again, maybe...” He started, unsure if he was going too far or not. “Maybe we can go swim in a river together?” He offered in a small, not so confident voice.

Jeans snapped out of his 'Marco's body admiration' trance, eyes wide again. He almost couldn't believe what he just heard. Not only did Marco suggest they did something together, but his slave's phrasing suggested that he wanted to still be by Jean's side when the next summer would come. Which meant months from now. The thought that Marco still wanted to be with him, and was going as far as making plans for the future, even though very casual ones, made the prince's heart beat faster in his chest, a deep feeling of joy and affection bubbling in his chest.

He wanted to kiss Marco right away. But they were both naked in the bath and he wanted to respect his slave's boundaries. So instead, once his brain was ready to form words again, he went for a safer option.

“I would love to go swimming with you” He sincerely agreed with a wide smile he was unable to control. “But not in the Nile if possible, I think I have a bad experience with it.” He even joked so much he felt relaxed. 

The prince said it as a joke, but his last sentence made his slave pale visibly. 

“Oh my. You fell into the water and almost drowned a week ago, and here I am, offering you a swim” Marco squeaked, horror painted on his face. “I am a terrible person. I'm so sorry Jean, I didn't mean- I'm- I'm just stupid, forget about what I said!” 

The brunette buried his face in his hands in shame and Jean was getting closer in a second. “No no, Marco please, don't say that, I was just joking” The prince soothed as he tried to coax his slave into getting out of his hide. “You're not stupid, I am the idiot for making such a lame joke. No one bathes in the Nile, we all know there are crocodiles there!” He continued, trying to convince the brunette to show himself. “Please look at me”

Feeling the distress in Jean's voice, Marco agreed to lower his hands and meet Jean's eyes. The prince's pained expression made the young slave bit his lower lip, still regretting his words. But Jean wanted none of that. He wanted to bring a smile back on those bitten lips, and he let his instinct find a solution for him. He gently cupped Marco's freckled cheek and pressed their lips together in a gentle kiss. “I want to go swimming with you”. Another kiss. “And do so many other things too... Even the most boring activity, I want to do it if it's with you”

Marco finally smiled, his cheeks rosy under Jean's palm. “Me too” He whispered, nuzzling into Jean's touch, deep brown eyes melting under intense tawny ones.

They shared a few more soft, fleeting kisses, Marco soon threading their fingers together against his cheek and warmly squeezing.   
They parted with a sigh and a smile, and Jean seemed so much younger with his features so relaxed.

“Let me wash your back” The prince offered, gesturing with his finger for his slave to turn around. 

Marco was surprised by this sudden momentum of selfless caring coming from Jean. “You don't have to...” He started but was interrupted by Jean's finger on his lips. “I want to” The prince was obviously decided and with how stubborn he could be, there was no possible refusal. “See it as thanks for washing me and putting up with me during the last week.” He quietly added as Marco obediently turned around, his smile widening. He really secretly kind of liked being pampered, especially if it was Jean taking care of him.  
The young slave still thought of protesting, for form's sake, tell his prince that he wasn't indebted to him in any way, but he refrained the words from coming out. And once Jean's hands were on his back, stroking and rubbing his sore muscles, he completely forgot about those protestations.  
Jean wasn't washing as much as he was massaging Marco's back, smiling as his slave let out a relaxed sigh. He loved the feeling of Marco's freckled skin under his fingers, and kneading the strong back muscles of his slave was definitely as enjoyable for him as it was for Marco.

“Feels good?” The prince asked, admittedly a bit cocky, proud of himself for being able to make his slave so relaxed under his touch.

Marco gave an honest nod, accompanied by a breathy “yes” that made Jean shiver. It was the first time the young brunette was getting a massage in his entire life. And he couldn't say he didn't like it, far from it; especially when it was Jean's slender fingers dancing along his skin. He didn't expect it to feel so nice, and thought he could get used to being pampered like today; with rich baths and gentle massages.  
Having Jean's body so close to him, radiating nice heat, and relaxed by the blond's touches as well as the pleasant bath, Marco felt a warm prickling sensation run under his skin. It felt nice, and he leaned backwards more against Jean, feeling the prince's chest pressed flush to his back. Jean chuckled, the low rumbling sound sending deep vibrations through Marco' body too, but the blond still continued his ministrations, his hands moving to Marco's shoulders, his touch getting lighter, more teasing.

As Jean caressed his slave's arms, Marco could have pointed out that he wasn't really massaging anymore. But he liked those fleeting strokes of Jean's soft hands, so he stayed silent. After a few more minutes, Jean couldn't resist brushing his lips against Marco's neck in butterfly kisses, his slave's skin looking too tempting.  
Marco let out a long sigh through his nose, biting his lower lip with how intimate the gesture was, and how much it was getting too him. He could feel heat pool down his lower stomach, and his ears turned red, slightly ashamed when he realized Jean's light touches got him hard.

So much for an innocent bath. He should have expected this outcome.

After all, it was only natural, they didn't have the occasion to be intimate with all the priests and healers coming and going into the prince's beroom. Their minds had been elsewhere too, more focused on healing injuries. And now, relieved from the stress of the accident and relaxing together, it was almost impossible not to want to lose themselves into each other.   
As if reading Marco's mind, Jean grew more daring with his touching, one of his arms circling Marco's waist, his hand tentatively stroking his slave's chest. Lips brushed against Marco's ear and he sighed again, relaxing further into Jean's embrace.   
The prince's touches weren't teasing but exploring, not rushed like expected from his temper. He was taking his time mapping his slave's body, as if lost in an infinite temporal loop where he could be with Marco forever, without the rush of the night falling or the sun rising.  
The passion with which Jean worshipped his body made Marco melt, the feeling of arousal slowly growing into him, like slow burning waves lapping at his skin everytime Jean's fingers danced over it.   
The young brunette's breath caught in his throat when Jean suddenly decided to move further, slowly rubbing his thumb against one of Marco's dark nipples. He moaned under the treatment.

“You like that?”

Marco nodded, cheeks flushing; he honestly never expected such a gesture to be so pleasant, but it was proving for the second time to be affecting him more than it should. The brunette could feel Jean's smile as the prince continued trailing kisses alongside his ear, his thumb continuing its appreciated treatment on his chest.  
Jean pressed himself closer to Marco's back and the young slave could feel the blond was growing hard too, his arousal brushing against him.   
Marco let out a shaky breath as Jean's hand travelled down, stroking his prominent hipbone before brushing his fingers against his aching need. The prince let out a pleased little noise upon discovering the effect his ministrations had on his slave, making Marco's blush darken. But the brunette didn't shy away. He was sure about what he wanted, and although he was still a bit intimidated by this new way of loving Jean, he wasn't afraid.

Turning his head, Marco gently caught Jean's lips, unable to resist kissing his lover anymore. Jean let out a surprised moan but gladly returned the kiss with more fervour. Marco turned around in Jean's hold, facing him, towering over the prince from a few centimetres.   
Jean used this occasion to settle on Marco's laps, making the brunette shiver as he cupped both freckled cheeks in his warm palm, deepening the kiss. Marco gasped when he felt their erections brush against each other, and Jean grinned, although just as affected as his slave by their current activities. The blond was flushed to his torso, surprised he was feeling so much so quickly, he who was used to much more than just simple grinding to satisfy his thirst. But with Marco, it was more than just carnal contact that he sought, and he discovered that when he cared, giving, making his lover feel good, coaxing sweet little noises out of him, was just as pleasant as receiving.

Still impatient to feel more, Jean wrapped his hand around both their arousal, making Marco shut his eyes tight and moan his name in a way that made him forget what he was doing for a second. But he quickly recovered, increasing the pace of his hand as Marco let his head fall onto his shoulder with a weak groan.

“Jean” The young slave breathed, his hands instinctively coming to rest on Jean's waist, squeezing and pawing at him like an anchor.

Jean groaned in response, his thumb teasing at Marco's slit to make him wince. As he left brainless kisses on Marco's neck, gathering all his self control to not bite down and leave a mark on his pretty slave, the prince increased the pace of his hand again. Marco responded with a breathy gasp, his hips jerking up into Jean's touch.

It had been too long for the both of them and they had no patience, no stamina left now, just the need to feel each other so intimately again.  
They didn't last long, their release building up quick and intense, their moans of each other's name soon echoing in the huge bathroom as they tipped closer to the edge of bliss.  
Marco was the first one to come, claiming Jean's lips to muffle his needy pleasure, fingers digging into the prince's skin, almost hard enough to bruise. Jean followed closely behind, pulling at Marco's lower lip with a deep growl before pressing their foreheads together. It took them a few minutes to catch their breathings, that time lengthened by breathy tiredly shared kisses.

Marco's hands almost shyly travelled down Jean's body, still getting used to it, mapping it, marvelling at how good it felt and how lucky he was to be here in the end. He ended up gently kneading the prince's royal bottom, impressed by how nice it felt under his fingers when Jean chuckled.

“If you want more of that, you can have it whenever you want” The prince teased with a playful wink as his hands rubbed up and down his slave's arms. 

Marco immediately took his hands back like he had been burned, a deep flush painting his face red. 

“J-Jean! Don't say things like that!” He whined, swatting the now laughing prince on the shoulder. But he didn't stay upset for long, soon draping his arms around Jean's waist, hugging him tight. “You are killing my cuddling mood” He grumbled against Jean's shoulder.

The prince's laugh died in his throat and it was his turn to turn crimson. He wasn't used to so much displays of affection and even less to post-coital cuddling. But he liked Marco hugging him. He felt safe in those strong arms where he could relax and talk without being judged, whether it was with words or not. These little casual moments they spent together, they felt right, and he wished they could last forever.

“But I am serious, if you want to try more, I will show you” Jean whispered, his voice incredibly soft as to not scare his slave. “When you are ready of course”

Marco faintly nodded but didn't respond. The prince's words touched him, pulling tightly at his heart's strings. Jean was careful with him, thoughtful and didn't want him just for himself; he wanted to create something together, where both sides found their comfort and content. That was more than the brunette could have hoped for. Marco wanted more of Jean, for sure; but he was still a bit cautious and wanted to take his time. For now, things were fine the way they were. He hoped it wouldn't bore his _very_ vigorous prince, but he wanted to trust Jean's feelings and his capacity to be patient and understanding when he really cared. 

“I love you” Marco finally whispered, as if to acknowledge his prince's efforts, his lips brushing tenderly against Jean's cheek. Jean whispered the words back and Marco hugged him tighter.

They would have stayed in the bath for hours, just holding each other in the peace of the room. But the milk eventually turned cold and discomfort as well as the risk of Jean getting sick when he had just been allowed to wander outside his bedroom made them get out.  
Marco wasn't embarrassed this time when he stood naked beside Jean. They even dried each other, probably taking longer than necessary, using every opportunity to memorize small imperfectly wonderful details of each other's body. There was no rush to go back to the outside world where they wouldn't be able to stay so close to each other. Deep inside their guts, between responsibilities and fears, they were both somehow aware that their time together might be running, so they had to make the most of even the most meaningless looking second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise sexy scene at the end! Marco secretly wanted to try the bath for a long time...  
> The babies are getting more and more comfortable with each other but will the shadow of a malicious person darken their breathing space again?   
> Wait for the next update to know! :)


	16. Dreaming with Tutu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I finally present you chapter 16!
> 
> Sorry for the late update but I did a small fic for Marco BottomBodt week that can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4939639/chapters/11336485) and it took me quite some time... Check it out if you want! :)
> 
> In this chapter (which is almost 9k words, I hope it makes up for the ldelay), a new character makes his appearance and some things get clarified...
> 
> Thank you again for all the feedback you give me, I like reading your theories as well as your thoughts and I hope you will enjoy the story's future development.

When Marco looked around him, there was nothing but darkness. He kept opening and closing his eyes but he saw no difference and ice cold panic started coursing down his back. Had he gone blind? What was happening to him?  
But his worries were soon dissipated by the soft light of candles forming a path in front of him. Afraid to be in the dark again, Marco's feet moved on their own and he ran aimlessly into the candle path. He ran and ran for what seemed like hours, his feet heavy when he dragged them in front of each other.  
But finally, he reached the end of the path, and suddenly, he found himself in Jean's large bathroom. The air was thick with hot steam, making it hard to see, but Marco still spotted Jean standing on the edge of the steamy bath. He slowly came closer to the prince but froze on the spot at what he saw.

When Jean turned to look at him, eyes glazed over and expression abandoned, Marco's eyes horrifyingly fell on the crimson slits that were the eyes of a snake, just beside the prince's head.   
Paralysed, the young slave was unable to move, and forced to watch as the rings of a huge white snake encircled the prince's shoulders. It was so different from the thin Black Mamba that attacked Jean few moons ago; its body heavier, its head rounder, and it's colour incomparable.   
But even if the snake's size terrified him, Marco was unable to find it in himself to act against it. Soon the snake was everywhere, its large rings moving over Jean's entire body, almost as if the snake's body had no end. Marco was so scared for the prince's life, fear icing in his guts, but his eyes were stuck on the spectacle in front of him and it was almost as if he was watching it without being there physically.  
The snake's rings constricted against Jean's bare chest, but the prince didn't seem alarmed.  
Indeed, his movements didn't look like they were restrained by the snake's hold on him. On the contrary, the prince was elegantly opening his arms to allow the snake's rings to travel around them, like he was executing some kind of weird but oh so mesmerizing dance which Marco couldn't help but admire.

The snake slowly shifted, the upper part of its body possessively looping around Jean's slender neck. Marco held his breath as Jean gasped under the sudden pressure on his windpipe. But the snake's hold didn't seem tight enough to suffocate the blond just yet, and Jean's fiery tawny eyes fell on Marco, immediately making every single nerve of his slave's body tingle, like he had just gotten burned.   
The snake's massive head stood dangerously close to the prince's face, so much that when the reptile pulled out its disgustingly rosy double tongue, the very tip of it brushed against Jean's cheek. But the prince didn't seem to mind, and seemed to reciprocate the gesture by affectionately rubbing his cheek against the snake's muzzle, nuzzling the reptile like it was his favourite pet.

Marco didn't understand what was going on but the more he looked at the scene, the more it felt like he was getting closer, until all he could see were the prince and the snake's head pressed against each other, their two pairs of burning eyes watching him with an intensity he could barely handle.

Jean was the first to look away, instead focusing back on the snake, leaning down to whisper words Marco couldn't hear into the reptile's non-existent ear.   
The odd reptile seemed to nod and before Marco had time to move or to flee, the snake opened its large mouth, revealing huge scary fangs threatening to devour him whole.

The snake attacked and everything turned black.

 

Marco opened his eyes and tried to move. 

He was lying on his side on Jean's bed, facing the small only window of the room. His heart was thundering in his chest and he could feel cold sweat bed on his forehead and run down his back. He couldn't move.

The vision he just had may have only been a dream, but the fear it brought upon him had him paralysed. It was like the weight of the huge nightmarish snake was refusing to let him go, even now that he was awake. He couldn't move even a finger, tetanized, his body unresponsive. He felt like while his mind was racing, alarmed, his body was still asleep and it was terrifying.

The young slave tried to convince himself that what he saw wasn't real. He knew it wasn't, but some irrational fear was still coursing through his pumping blood.  
He was sure he would feel better if he could at least move, change position, to strengthen his grip on reality, but his muscles were still refusing to indulge his demands. He even tried to call for Jean, craving his comforting presence close to him, but his throat was tight, condemning him to silence.

The poor Marco didn't dare close his eyes to try and find sleep again, too concerned he would fall into the same dream, so it is with a defeated whimper, and still shaking with illogical and uncontrollable fear that he settled on waiting for his body to calm down. He had no other choice anyway.

But then, unexpectedly, he felt the warmth of a familiar body press against his back, and a gentle but lazy hand brush against his arm. Jean, always the light sleeper, was probably disturbed by Marco's heavy breathing, or maybe it was a more complex phenomena, an attraction explicable only by abstract concepts of connection and feelings, that brought him back to half consciousness and pulled him towards his frightened slave.

“You alright?” Jean slurred, his voice low and still laced with sleep. “You're shaking”

Marco's eyes widened, he didn't realize he had been trembling like a leaf all this time. He took a sharp breath and relaxed under Jean's touch, his shaking slowly receding as Jean gently coaxed him into turning so he was facing him. And as expected, Jean's hand on him linked Marco back to reality and his muscles progressively relaxed, the inexplicable fear he felt before finally agreeing to leave him alone.

Once he was facing Jean, it was easier to breathe for the young slave. And even though he couldn't see the prince so well in the ambient darkness, knowing he was there close to him was enough to calm his alarmed nerves.

“Are you okay?” Jean asked again, slightly more awake than before.

“I'm fine” Marco tried to control the lingering shakiness of his voice. “It was... just a bad dream” He tried to reassure the prince, but still entwined their fingers, more for his own reassurance than Jean's.

Jean let out a faint groan and the next second, a hand was sloppily groping its way along Marco's face. The brunette gasped in surprise, but he didn't have the chance to ask Jean what he was doing for the prince soon gave a small satisfied sound when he found Marco's forehead, his hand stopping there. Then, the young slave felt Jean's hand close into a fist, as if he was mimicking grabbing something from inside his head. And before Marco could decide if he felt amused or confused, or both, the prince threw his arm back, opening his hand as if tossing it's imaginary content into the air.  
Once he was done, Jean yawned and was quick in snuggling up against the warmth of Marco's bare torso, ready to go back to sleep.

“There, it's gone” He simply stated. “Now back to sleep”

Marco would have chuckled at how cute Jean's bossiness was when half asleep, but he was too touched by the simple gesture the prince offered as comfort to be amused. Jean had chased his dream away with his presence only, and the slave appreciated that instead of coaxing him into telling him what scared him and force him relieve the scene he witnessed in the dream, Jean had just shown him support in his own way. Marco couldn't have asked for more, and now he was sure he wouldn't find the snake back when he would close his eyes.

“Thank you” He whispered, gathering Jean closer into his arms and burying his head into the prince's soft hair.   
The late hour of the night as well as the vulnerable state the dream put him in made Marco cuddlier. He was in need of affection and human presence, and Jean gladly gave it to him, pressing impossibly closer.

“It's nothing” The prince groggily replied. “Mother used to do this when I had nightmares... thought it would help...”

Jean's eyes were already closed again but Marco could feel the nostalgia in his tone. The slave sighed through his nose, his hand still holding Jean's and giving him a light supportive squeeze. 

Jean reassured Marco but at the cost of darkening his own mood. But his gesture was natural and heartfelt, and now, the burden of one was shared between the two of them. Jean knew Marco would have done the same thing for him, and together, they were stronger; licking each other's fresh wounds clean, but also their own old battle scars. Maybe it wasn't the best way to deal with things but it was their own way, and it suited them, connecting them more with each passing day, probably dangerously so given their respective situations.  
But for now the immediate problem was solved, it was the main objective; Marco's nightmare didn't come back and in each other's arms, they both quickly fell back into a peaceful slumber.

–--------

The following day, Marco was admittedly still a bit shaken by the visions he had while asleep. The images he saw kept vividly flashing before his eyes and it was worrying him. He never remembered a dream for so long, and now his mind was filled with snakes and tawny burning eyes only. It was starting to scare him for he felt he was dreaming awake and was afraid he soon wouldn't be able to tell reality from a dream. He was more than bothered by this nightmare; he was obsessed by it, and the more the day progressed, the worse it got. So much that at some point it became clear to anyone close to Marco that something was wrong.

“Marco is there something bothering you?” Bertholdt was the first to hesitantly ask.

Marco had taken refuge in the familiar kitchens to try and clear his mind off the dream while Jean was attending a lecture with his economy professor. And of course, his unusually thoughtful behaviour as well as his paler, almost sick looking complexion didn't go unnoticed by his taller slave friend.   
Even if they didn't see each other that much recently, Marco still held a deep respect for Bertholdt and Reiner, his first friends here. Sometimes, in the deep of the night, when he could leisurely watch Jean sleep, he remembered how he used to sleep on a wood-plank facing those two, and it reminded him of how lucky he was now to be able to rest in a real bed.

“It's not much... just a bad dream I had.” Marco sighed, easily confiding in Bertholdt and not trying to hide behind a forced smile and a heartless “I'm fine”.

“A dream?” Bertholdt asked, almost more to himself. He licked his lips, seemingly lost in thoughts before he looked up to Marco. “You still remember what it was about?”

“Very clearly yes.” Marco nodded. “And that is what frightens me... I'm afraid it's a sign, like a warning about something bad coming up...”

Bertholdt slowly nodded his head, understanding, but also looking slightly worried.

“I think I know the person you need, he interprets dreams like no-one else can and his predictions always come true” Bertholdt got up and Marco blinked, surprised. “Would you like to go see him? It's someone you already know so don't be afraid”

Marco got up too and curiously followed Bertholdt. Who could be this expert in dreams he already met? He didn't dare asking, but he hoped it wasn't Levi, because if Eren wasn't here, he was not sure he would be able to communicate with the guard properly.

–--------

Bertholdt led Marco to a small cosy room where there were no traces of Levi. However, Eren was there, talking with a pale girl with long velvety jet black hair and an exotic dancing outfit, that the freckled slave recognized to be his adopted sister Mikasa.  
The room looked definitely like hers given the feminine burgundy cushions spread all over the floor and the rich and colourful draperies on the walls. She had impressively fancy quarters for a dancer who wasn't supposed to be free of a master. It got Marco curious, but he had other more important things in mind for now so he chose to keep his interrogations for later.

“What is it Bertholdt?” It was the first time Marco heard Mikasa talk and he was surprised by how soft her voice was despite her cool appearance and sharp eyes. He could see why she caught Jean's eye at some point. She was the picture of exotic elegance and grace, a natural beauty he considered himself lucky to witness.  
So she was the one interpreting dreams? Talented for dance, beautiful and now this; she had truly been gifted by nature.

“Marco here would like advice and guidance about a particularly vivid dream he recently had” Bertholdt answered, slightly stiffening as Mikasa's gaze stayed fixed on him like one of a feline inspecting a shivering prey.   
But then, to Marco's surprise, Bertholdt and Mikasa's eyes fell on Eren. 

Did they want him to leave maybe?

“Eren, what do you say?” Mikasa gently asked, her hand coming to rest atop the ex-dancer's darker one.

“I'm willing to listen of course” Eren answered, his attitude calmer than usual, probably soothed by his sister's presence.

Marco watched confused, trying to understand what was going on between the three other persons in the room who seemed to know something he didn't.   
But he didn't have time to ask questions as he was coaxed into sitting on a soft velvety cushion, facing Eren.

“So, Marco, what was that dream of yours about?” Eren asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I want every single detail, even the more pointless looking ones.”

Marco blinked, his eyes wide with surprise. “So the dream specialist is you? Not your sister?”

“Ahah yes, it's me” Eren finally smiled, his signature lopsided grin warming the room and helping Marco relax. The freckled brunette was admittedly a bit tensed before and now, seeing Eren's familiar smile, he felt more comfortable. “Are you surprised?”

Marco nodded, blushing slightly, ashamed of how he underestimated Eren. He would never have suspected him to have any kind of spiritual talents and that only because of his appearance and attitude; he would try and not be so quick to judge next time.

“Everyone always is” Eren chuckled, although his smile slightly faded. “But I've had this ability to explain dreams since I was too little to understand it was a gift...” Eren looked to his sister, his gaze seeming lost. But he quickly focused back, his deep green eyes falling on Marco again. “So, are you willing to tell me about what bothers you? I won't judge, promise” He put a hand on front of his heart as a proof of his sincerity.

Marco trusted Eren to keep his dream a secret. And if Bertholdt took the initiative to bring him here it meant his taller friend was confident in Eren's abilities so why not give it a try. He would do anything to get this dream out of his head really.

“Alright” Marco agreed and started counting his dream, not forgetting a single detail. 

He didn't dare meeting Eren or anyone else's gaze while he talked, admittedly a bit embarrassed by the content of his dream, especially how it revolved around a certain prince.  
Eren listened carefully, nodding from time to time but never interrupting Marco. The guard apprentice and dream reader waited for the freckled slave to be done to ask questions.

“So you had this dream, and it scared you?” Eren tried to clarify.

“Yes!” Marco eagerly nodded. “I woke up petrified and now I keep thinking about it. I'm terrified it means Jean is in danger again!”

Eren gave Marco the most sympathetic look he could muster upon hearing the brunette's trembling voice.

“You really care for him don't you” He whispered, almost inaudibly, a strange sort of smile on his lips. “Don't worry Marco, I don't see your dream as a bad omen” He gently reassured. 

“But surely such a huge snake can't mean any good!” Marco objected, his emotions on edge from how much the dream affected him.

Eren shook his head, his unusual calm serving to slightly appease Marco's racing mind. “From what you described, the snake wasn't aggressive towards Jean at all. Besides, its colour pattern wasn't negative, and although a lot of people fear snakes, in dreams they are a symbol of the unconscious and hold a lot of positive meanings...” 

Marco absorbed every one of Eren's words with attention and also curiosity for this new knowledge that was offered to him. “What does it mean in this case then?”

Marco held his breath as Eren searched for the right words. “The snake in your dream doesn't augur anything bad, on the contrary, to me it symbolizes healing and resolving issues, like, for example, how Jean is healing properly after his fall.” Eren explained, and Marco let out a relieved breath. “But snakes also tend to show up in time of transition, or change. Maybe there is something changing in you, or in your life?”

Marco looked down, feeling his cheeks heat up. A lot of change occurred in his life recently; but why would he dream about it now when the most important change, his new relationship with Jean, had already happened more than a moon ago?

“You and Jean are very close, closer than anyone ever was with him that is for sure” Eren commented and Marco's blush darkened. “Even a blind man could see you are connected” He added before Marco could utter any weak form of protest. 

Marco nodded, sighing. “I guess we cannot hide it...”

“There is nothing to be ashamed of Marco” Eren reassured and the freckled slave was pleasantly surprised by how mature he could be. “But in your dream, the fact that the snake coils around Jean, in a rather... sensual way, leads me to think Jean is the person who moves you, your main focus these day...” Eren exhaled loudly through his nose before running a hand through his messy brown hair. “And I don't want to embarrass you further but I think the dream mostly shows what you desire the most but that your conscience pushes back deep inside your unconscious”

Marco frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

Eren clicked his tongue, shifting on the cushion he was sitting on, his cheeks tinted with a hint of pink. “What I mean is that snakes are a symbol of medicine but also of temptation; and to me that is what stands out the most from your dream. You want Jean. You desire him, in a carnal way, but some part of you refuses to admit it.”

A strangled choking sound came from the previously silent and almost forgotten Bertholdt and Mikasa shot him a disapproving glare.   
Marco was red as a Roselle flower. He never expected his dream could be interpreted this way. He felt like a perverted sex maniac and wished he never asked for Eren's interpretation.   
But deep inside, he also knew Eren wasn't fooling with him and he couldn't deny the thought of being close to Jean was often on his mind.

“Marco, this kind of dream is nothing to be ashamed of” A soft hand covered Marco's freckled one and he was surprised to see Mikasa address him for the first time. “We all want to share intimacy with the person we love, it is normal, and it is in no way impure”

Her words soothed the guilt in Marco's guts but the way she casually implied that she knew he loved Jean was making his blush increase tenfold. He supposed their relationship was kind of obvious, an open secret that try struggled keeping to themselves when there was probably no need for so much effort. But he also suspected Eren shared details with his sister that had her more informed than any other random slave.

“Mikasa is right Marco, there is nothing to be ashamed of” Bertholdt agreed, coming closer but staying at a respectful distance. “Being so close physically to someone you love, it's...” Pink tinted the tall man's dark cheeks. “It's amazing, trust me”.

Marco nodded, avoiding any eye contact but still forcing a small smile to thank his friends for their kind words. He still felt slightly embarrassed and he needed time to think about the dream's meaning by himself, alone with his thoughts.   
So he made his leave, thanking everyone once more: Bertholdt for bringing him here, Eren for sharing his gift, and Mikasa for listening without judging.

–--------

Alone in the gardens, Marco found refuge under the shade of the large palm-tree leaves. He needed to get at peace with himself; his wants, his needs, and luckily Jean was still occupied for a few hours so he didn't need to hurry this introspection process.

The dream he had had shaken him more than expected, and now that he was aware of its true meaning, he was relieved for Jean's safety but puzzled by another matter.  
He watched the few blue lotus flowers dancing across the waters of the small pond in front of him and he sighed languidly. Of course they reminded him of Jean.

How much he liked the prince's voice, his smiles, his perfume too, even though sometimes it was a bit too much and clogged his nostrils when he inhaled deep into those soft ashen blond hair.  
He smiled to himself like the sickeningly in love idiot he was.

Marco knew he loved Jean and he wanted to be with him more; to talk with him about fascinating subjects such as astronomy and mythology, to laugh with him at the often too serious priests and professors, to share memories about their missing loved ones...  
But Marco also liked when they stopped talking and got more... physical.

The young slave couldn't deny how his heart rate increased everytime Jean's gaze fell on his lips before they kissed, or how good it felt to have Jean's hands on him, his warm touch burning him in the most exquisite way.  
Jean was witty and energetic, but could also be quiet and soft, or even suave and passionate. Marco loved his prince's endearing personality but it wasn't the only thing that made him fall for him.

He would lie if he said he never stole glances to Jean's slender frame when he changed before they were together. And still now, he liked the prince's appearance more than he wanted to admit.   
How could he not? Jean was beautiful, with his slender frame and refined face; so pretty Marco sometimes had trouble believing they were both human beings. Jean was regal, his beauty a gift from the gods, and his young slave still wondered sometimes how he could catch the eye of such a handsome creature.

Marco knew it was normal not to be attracted only by Jean's personality, but he still felt like enjoying the prince's looks so much was bad. Because even if he sometimes seemed superficial, Jean deserved to be liked for who he was and not how he looked. He deserved so much more than just admiration for his appearance and Marco wanted to show him that he didn't like him for the outside only like most of people in the palace did.  
But it turned rather hard when he kept getting distracted by Jean's narrow hips, his particularly prominent collarbones, his defined cheekbones and his eyes... Oh, Marco could write a whole book about those burning tawny eyes; the way they changed with the light of they day and the emotions boiling inside Jean's mind.   
Once you knew him well enough, it was easy to read through Jean by looking at his eyes only. They weren't said to be the windows to the soul for nothing, and it was especially true when it came to Jean.  
Suddenly those burning orbs vividly flashed in Marco's mind, passionate and wicked as he remembered them looking at him from between his legs, while Jean's lips were wrapped tightly around his-

Marco violently shook his head before burying his face into his open palms with a deep groan. He had such dirty thoughts recently. It was true that he desired Jean's body, but not only for the carnal pleasure; also for the meaning of it. Because he wanted Jean to be his first, wanted to make him feel good too. Jean told him multiple times that he wanted to get farther with him when he was ready so it was fine right?  
But some part of him kept telling Marco such an act was dirty and bad while on the other side, he was reminded of Bertholdt's words: that it was an act of love mostly.

Added to this mess was the lingering fear that Jean would leave him after they went all the way; the fear that Jean would get back to his old habits and throw him away like a used toy he was bored of. Or worst; that he wouldn't be good enough to give Jean a good time. Since the prince was so experimented compared to him, Marco kept thinking he would make a fool of himself and disappoint Jean. He knew this reasoning was stupid because Jean had always been understanding with him but his thoughts on the subject were a messy blur and he couldn't help but be anxious about this matter since it was new and admittedly a bit scary...

Marco was apprehensive but he was also curious, and oh so willing to share more of his emotions and his body with Jean. The idea of being joined together as one made his heart race and he bit his lips. He wished he could please Jean like Jean always pleased him, and bring him so much pleasure and love the prince would forget about his worries and recent troubles.

But how could he do that, he who was just a simple shepherd? 

He thought about getting advice from Bertholdt and Reiner, or even Eren but he was too shy for that and also, his male pride told him he could figure it out himself. If they went slow he was sure he could find what Jean liked.  
And then it would be his little secret, something shared only between them. He would keep those faces Jean would make, and the words he would say to himself, proud of how he could affect him.

Yes, that sounded great! 

He didn't have to be afraid, this was nothing compared to all the misadventures they went through together. 

Marco didn't want to waste opportunities to be closer to Jean anymore, so he decided he would talk about what he wanted to Jean as soon as possible. Communication was the most important thing to keep between them if they wanted things to last and knowing the prince, he would probably be delighted about this decision.

Determined and with a clearer mind, Marco satisfyingly left the gardens, throwing one last look over his shoulder to the lotus flowers on the calm waters before he smiled.

–--------

On his way back to the palace, Marco was stopped by the sight of a familiarly large blond man engaged in a heated conversation with a smaller, thinner young man with a strange haircut that involved a buzzed out part with on top some sort of weird bowl cut.  
Intrigued, the young slave approached them, although cautiously. It probably wasn't his business to delve into both men's affairs, but Marco couldn't contain his natural curiosity; a fault that sometimes turned out to be a quality.

“... Marlowe it's the third time this week, you have to keep her locked up! She's ruining Pharaoh's orange trees and I keep getting scolded by your fault!” Reiner reprimanded the other man who took a defensive stance, obviously intimidated by the blond's large built and loud voice.

“I-I know, but I have to let her fly! The poor thing, she's made for it!” The young slave who seemed to be called 'Marlowe' still argued, although with a squeaky voice, betraying his fear. “Besides, she has to be trained regularly. I wouldn't want her to miss during one of the High Priest's performances, or else who knows what he would have done to me...” The darker haired boy gulped, obviously more scared of the priest than he was of Reiner.

Marco wondered who the “she” they were referring to was, but he soon got his answer as he came even closer, spotting a thick rough leather glove on Marlowe's arm, where was calmly perched a large falcon.  
Although the sight of a bird of prey reminded Marco of not so pleasant recent memories, he still had to admit the animal was beautiful. Its head was thin, with an elegant pointy beak, and its sharp tawny eyes reminded him of a certain prince's intelligent gaze. Its wings were ashen grey but still looked soft and shiny, while its belly was white, speckled with grey spots, like Kiya's back was dotted with black.   
The bird noticed him before anyone else could, its strong animal senses far more developed than any man's ear or sight, and it titled its head curiously, blinking with its third eyelid before letting out a small shriek, alerting the arguing slaves of Marco's presence.

“Oh, Marco!” Reiner's frown turned into a smile in a split second. “What are you doing around here? Shouldn't you be with a certain prince?” The blond teasingly waggled his eyebrows, his upset mood from before seeming already forgotten.   
But Marco wasn't surprised; Reiner was a lively being, never the resentful kind. Although his comment did make the brunette blush. All eyes were now on him, making Marco a little uncomfortable to be honest, especially with a stranger looking at him with eyes as wide as the bird he was holding.

“Marlowe don't stare! It's not polite!” Reiner gave Marlowe a small pat on the arm that wasn't holding the falcon and his booming laugh filled the air when the smaller slave winced.

Marlowe looked like he had seen a ghost and it didn't help Marco's case of discomfort that he kept staring at him as if he was a scary apparition.

“You are really the prince's personal slave?” Marlowe blurted out and Marco was admittedly a bit taken aback by this question.

“I guess I am” He answered, unsure of what his job implied for the other slave. “Is it a bad thing?”

“What?!” Marlowe immediately replied, his voice coming too loud before he regained his composure, trying his best not to scare the falcon on his arm that was now angrily batting its wings, obviously upset by its holder's loud behaviour. “No no no no, not at all” Marlowe eagerly shook his head. “On the contrary, it's just... my friends and I, w-we're kind of grateful”

“Grateful?” Marco asked, puzzled. How could he have owned this man's gratitude when he never even met him? This conversation was getting more and more surprising.

“Yes!” Marlowe hastily replied, a small smile tugging the corner of his lips. “Since you have been around, not all noticed it, but we did...” He gently stroked the agitated bird on his arm to try and calm it down, a fond look in his eyes. “We noticed how much the prince's behaviour has changed around us... and for the best!” He looked back to Marco, gratitude so clear in his dull grey eyes it touched the freckled boy. “I know some gossip about you and like to spread bad rumours, but I am convinced you are a good influence to the prince, and a blessing for slave's condition in the palace... and maybe in all Egypt!”

“I-isn't that a bit too much to award me?” Marco had to look away, flustered by Marlowe's kind, maybe exaggerated but honest words. “I didn't do anything much...”

“You don't need to do much” Marlowe swiftly replied. “Egypt wasn't built in one day, and I believe it is thanks to people like you that we can make small steps towards a better world”

Marlowe's words touched Marco deep in his heart. He never expected to be supported so by a total stranger, but there he was, receiving compliments instead of hearing whispers being his back about how talented in bed he must be to get into Jean's good graces.

“I think you have said enough Marlowe” Reiner gently stopped the falconer's inspired speech. “Another word and you might make poor Marco cry” The blond softly chuckled.

“O-oh, right, sorry” Marlowe blushed, sudden realization of how passionate he had been falling upon him. “I guess I will have to bring this girl here back to the falconry” He tilted his head towards the bird on his arm and the falcon squeaked in acknowledgement.

Reiner nodded. “Yes you should. And make sure she doesn't escape again! I understand she likes perching on the magnificent orange trees I am trying to grow, but her faeces and feathers are unwanted around here.” 

“I know, I know” Marlowe sighed. “But I can't get her to stop cutting her rope with her beak. She's wasn't born in the palace so I guess it's her wildness showing up. She wants to be free to fly wherever she wants... Don't we all?” His shoulder slouched. “The priests suggest I have her beak cut but I find it would be too cruel to mutilate her so....” 

Marco understood Marlowe's struggle; a bird was meant to be free to fly whenever, but yet domesticated ones were kept in cage because they were of use to selfish humans.   
The young slave didn't really know what to think about domesticated animals though, for as long as men existed, they used animal to feed of and then to help them in building safer lives, so he couldn't preach enslaving those creatures was completely bad, especially if said animals were treated right; fed and protected from predators that could have killed them in the wild.  
However he appreciated Marlowe's refusal to hurt the falcon so it would stop escaping; it was clear that his new acquaintance held a particular affection for the bird.

“For religious men preaching tolerance and forgiveness, the priests aren't too kind to animal condition... It seems only humans are worthy of their good graces; and even not every human; only the ones with particular blood or titles...” Reiner bitterly remarked.

Marco wanted to disagree that not all priests were like that, but he didn't want to start an argument, and for the large majority of the priests in the palace, Reiner's comment sadly turned to be accurate.

“Sadly yes” Marlowe agreed. “I thought the priests responsible of the Tale of Osiris' ceremony were going to kill me last time she escaped... That day I feared she wouldn't come back; she was nowhere to be found in the gardens where she usually ventures.” Marlowe looked down, something obviously bothering him. “Everything seemed so wrong that particular day... Her rope was just gone instead of cut like it usually is and...” He looked up to meet Marco's eyes, his grey gaze dead serious. “It was the day of the prince's accident.”

Marco's eyes widened and his blood turned cold. So Marlowe was implying that the falcon perched on his gloved hand was the one who attacked Jean and almost led to the end of the prince's life.

“I-if someone used her to harm the prince, in any case, it wasn't her fault! She's just trained to obey orders! I'm sure she wouldn't have gone so far away and attacked on her own!” Marlowe protectively held the bird closer, shielding it from Marco's hardening gaze. “She isn't a bad animal, not aggressive in any way. But it is true I saw a small drop of blood on her claws the night where I found her” Marlowe's voice broke. “I am sorry”

Marco took a deep breath, trying to calm his boiling emotions as well as his racing thoughts.

“Don't apologize” The brunette tried to keep the icy edge away from his tone. He believed Marlowe wasn't the one at fault in this story. And the slave had offered him a great piece of information there, despite risking a lot with it. “And thank you for telling me about this”

Until then Marco's researches on Jean's accident had given no result. And for a simple reason; Levi only mentioned the wound designated a bird of prey as the attacker, and Marco had lost himself into trying to find what bird was more likely to be the culprit first by extended and pointless study of the healers' stolen reports on Jean's wound.  
But Marco was no healer or wound expert and he had exhausted himself reading books over books on the subject when he could have simply gone to the falconry and ask which birds were missing or used on the day of Jean's accident.   
Indeed, if the snake and Nile incident were connected as he suspected, it meant the culprit was working in the palace, and had access to the birds as well as the snakes, and also knew how to handle them.  
Marco felt stupid for his lack of good judgement on this matter. The more time he took finding the culprit, the higher the risk of Jean getting targeted again got. He couldn't afford to waste time on bad analysis on his part, and he decided he needed help.

“So you think someone took your bird that day? Do you have any idea of who it could be?” 

Marlowe shook his head. “I don't, I'm sorry... And I don't understand! Everyone in the falconry likes the prince. We know he may be short tempered, but he loves animals so we believe he is a good person.”

Marco had to agree on this one. The attacker must have a particular taste for irony; trying to end Jean's life by using creatures the prince admired... Or else that person had no other options...

“Maybe your heard of it but the prince was previously attacked by a snake supposedly coming from the palace's Menagerie. Do you think someone could have access to both the falconry and the vivarium?

Marlowe frowned, obviously racking his brain. “I don't think so... The vivarium and the falconry are obviously completely different and separate areas...” He licked his lips, pensively. “But I think I can investigate for you”

“You would do that?” Marco couldn't hide his surprise, but also couldn't contain the hint of excitement in his voice.

“Of course!” Marlowe nodded. “If I can be of any help to the royal family, I will do my best! I will search the records for someone who was involved in both the vivarium and the falconry, whether slave or noble”

Marco's bright smile returned to his worried features. “Thank you, you don't know how much this means to me”

“Don't thank me, I have yet to find anything” Even with the orange trees shading his face, Marlowe's cheeks could visibly be seen tinting pink. The falconer tightened his grip on the small broken rope on his bird's leg. “I have to go. I am glad I could meet you Marco Bodt.” He respectfully bowed his head as if Marco was nobility and the freckled brunette stepped back from this unexpected move. “I won't let you down. You will hear from me again as soon as I find some interesting information.”  
Marlowe apologized once again to Reiner for the trouble his bird caused and then he took his leave.

Marco stood still next to Reiner, baffled by the encounter he just made and by how his slow investigation took a huge turn in a matter of seconds. He wanted to believe it was fate that put Marlowe on his path today, and that despite someone wanting harm to Jean, the skies didn't abandon them.

“Well, if someone had told me I would live to witness slaves trying to solve an assassination attempt towards royalty, I would have laughed in their faces...” Reiner sighed. “Yet here we are.” He turned to Marco. “I probably won't be of much help, but if you ever need me don't hesitate. I'm sure it's the same for Bertholdt too”

“Thanks Reiner” Marco smiled softly. He was really lucky he was able to find such good friends in this first hostile place.

“I may not be the most clever. But if you need to _'persuade'_ anyone to do or say something, I'm sure I could give a little intimidation show” The blond winked before stepping away from Marco and bending down to pick up a small blue flower with a yellow centre. “I'll have to clean the mess Marlowe's pigeon made tomorrow. But for now, I'll go back to Bertl. He's probably waiting for me to have dinner.”

Marco watched Reiner straighten up and carefully twirl the fragile flower between his thick fingers.

“Bertl likes forget-me-nots” Reiner answered Marco's silent question once he spotted the way the brunette curiously looked at the flower. The blond then picked up a second one and handed it to his friend. “Their smell only reveals itself at nightfall. They are not much but everyone likes a present right?” Reiner winked again, showing a more mysterious side for the first time.

Marco took the flower with wide eyes and with a small chuckle, Reiner left, his steps light at the idea of seeing his beloved.

–--------

It was admittedly a still a bit shaken by the events of the afternoon that Marco reached the princely bedroom that night. He still held onto the flower Reiner gave him, determined to offer it to Jean, even if he was completely unsure of how the prince might react to it.  
He was troubled by what he found out about Jean's accident, glad his research was going somewhere on one hand, but also scared that the assassination theory was becoming more and more tangible on the other.  
However he trusted Marlowe to take care of the researches for now. He was more potent to do so, and even if Marco only met him today, he seemed a decent man, and also one that Reiner seemed to appreciate despite the fact that when he arrived they were arguing.

With nothing else to do on the investigation subject than wait, Marco thought back to the dream he had and Eren's interpretation. He looked down to the blue flower between his fingers and he wished he could be in the warmth and familiarity of Jean's arms as soon as possible.  
But when he opened the door to Jean's room, the blond was nowhere to be seen.

Marco frowned, disappointed and also slightly worried. It wasn't like Jean to wander the palace at night, the prince was more of an early sleeper.  
In the corner of the room, Marco spotted Kiya looking at him. With a silent yawn exposing her sparkling white teeth, the cheetah stretched before lazily approaching him.  
She was familiar with the brunette by now and had accepted his presence, that was why Marco didn't hesitate to gently stroke her back like Jean often did as she rubbed against his leg (or more his hips given how tall she was), like a harmless domestic cat would.

“You don't happen to know where your master is do you?” Marco chuckled as Kiya purred under his strokes.

The cheetah looked at him, head tilted, her deep tawny eyes shining with intelligence. Then she swiftly walked to the door and unceremoniously started trotting away.

“Hey! Wait! Are you leading the way or are you escaping?! Because Jean will be furious if I lose you!” Marco called the cheetah back but she wouldn't listen, and afraid to lose her in the palace, he ran after her. “Wait Kiya!” He tried a few times but there was no stopping the feline.

 

When Kiya finally came to a stop, Marco was out of breath. The young slave looked up and found that they were now in front of the library. Kiya sat down, slowly licking her chops while Marco let out heavy pants. “If Jean is in there, then I will seriously reconsider animals' intelligence upwards” Marco chuckled and Kiya tilted her head. “Not that I don't think you aren't intelligent already, far from it but... you are quite an amazing creature.”  
Kiya's waggled her tail lazily as Marco straightened up, taking a deep breath before opening the library's doors.

At this late hour, there was no-one inside. It wasn't surprising, Marco still remembered how in his first days in Egypt he had been thrown out of the library by the High Priest because he stayed there too long to his taste. The bitter memory made Marco's lip curve down, but thankfully, it was quickly soothed by the far away sight of a blond haired silhouette hunched back on a chair, deeply engrossed in a thick book.

Jean was hidden in a corner of the library, his reading lit by only one single candle, and his back turned to Marco. But the freckled brunette realized the prince wasn't alone when he spotted a very young slave with his head shaven handing Jean another thick book.

“This is the last book I could find on the subject my prince” The slave quietly informed, his stance curled up on himself, obviously intimidated by his interlocutor.

“Right, right, let me concentrate on th-” Jeans groaned, upset to be interrupted in his reading, but he quickly started again, seemingly realizing how mean his tone had been to the poor slave who stayed up late to help him. “I mean... Thank you for your help, you are dismissed now, go get some well deserved sleep.”  
The slaved bowed and swiftly took his leave, quickly passing Marco with his head down but a small smile on his lips.

Marco felt a rush of pride fill him upon witnessing Jean's change in attitude. This was the real Jean; from outside his personality seemed rough but inside, he had a tender heart. The freckled slave also admired Jean's courage to be working at such a late hour, and he couldn't help but wonder what subject he was studying. Although he may have a small idea...

The prince had yet to notice him so Marco decided to snick up on him, but not in a spooky way, it wasn't his style.   
Marco approached Jean, making sure to make his steps light, discrete as not to be discovered, and then, with shaky hands full of uncertainty, he gently draped his arms around Jean's neck, pressing his chest to the back of the busy prince's chair. 

Jean start and tensed but then quickly relaxed when Marco rested his chin on his shoulder, recognizing his lover's presence in a second.

“Wow” Jean breathed as Marco nuzzled against his neck with slightly hesitant affection. For now Jean wasn't complaining but Marco couldn't tell if so much tenderness would eventually annoy his prince or not. “What did I do to deserve this sudden spur of affection?” Jean's chuckle was strained, but not from annoyance, and he gently placed a hand over one of Marco's. 

That's when the prince's eyes curiously fell onto the small blue flowers Marco held.

Marco twirled the flower between his fingers and handed it to Jean with a small. “For you”  
Jean's breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening slightly, but he still carefully took the delicate flower. “W-what do you think I am? Some girl you have to court?” He chuckled again, but the stutter in his voice as well as the small smile on his lips and the reddening blush on his cheeks told Marco he was pleased with the present. “Seriously, what is with you tonight?” Jean grumbled but still fell deeper into Marco's warm embrace.

“I missed you” Marco honestly answered, placing a small kiss on Jean's jaw, making the prince sigh contently before he ungraciously snorted. “You saw me this morning!”

Marco continued peppering small kisses down Jean's neck, and the blond docilely tilted his head to expose his neck more to the pleasant treatment. “But I still _did_ miss you” Marco insisted before his gaze fell onto the book Jean was previously reading. “What are you studying?” 

Jean groaned softly, disappointed that Marco stopped his kisses and turned his attention back to his work. “The Instruction of Wisdom. I never took it seriously before so I find myself really lagging behind on it...” Jean ran his free hand through his hair and Marco felt proud of him again, for the prince now finally saw the importance of his education; how interesting the knowledge his professors passed onto him was, and how lucky he was to be tutored when most Egyptians didn't know how to read. In a few months, Jean had matured so much... Or maybe he had always been like this, only hiding this true side of him behind pompous words and carefree appearances.

“But I think I am done for tonight, my eyes are starting to sting and I can't assimilate the words I read anymore” Jean closed his book and then turned his head, placing a small peck on Marco's lips. But it wasn't enough for Marco who chased after his lover's lips, capturing them into a more heated, passionate kiss, pouring all his need and love for Jean into it until they were both left panting and out of breath.

“By the gods Marco” Jean warmly chuckled between pants, squeezing his slave's hand. “You aren't usually the one to initiate so much... Although I can't say I mind this unusual behaviour of yours...” Jean purred, turning completely on his chair so he could wrap his arms around Marco's neck and bring him into another heated kiss.

It was true that Marco was rarely the one to ask for kisses, or initiate any physical contact beside cuddles, never knowing if it was the right moment to do so, and also fearing he might look needy and greedy. But the more time he spent with Jean, the more comfortable he got with what they physically had, and so, the more daring he became.  
And today, his decision was made, he wanted to love Jean, and although he was a bit apprehensive; he was also excited and wouldn't hide his intentions.

“Let's go to bed” The brunette whispered against Jean's lips. “I-” He started, voice trembling with all the implication of what he was about to say. He chewed on his bottom lip, gathering up his courage. “I want you” He breathed, his hands caressing the sensitive skin of Jean's chest.

The prince's eyes widened, searching Marco's dark brown orbs for certainty. “Y-you.. are?... well uh...” Jean groaned, trying to sort out the mess of thoughts that were invading his head. “Are you sure?” He finally asked, not wanting to force Marco into anything.

The young brunette's only answer was a confident nod of his head and Jean whined, pressing his forehead against Marco's chest as a large wave of arousal hit him by surprise.

“Jean? Are you alright?” Marco asked, worried he did something wrong, his momentum of confidence fading.   
His hand moved up to stroke the blond's hair reassuringly but Jean soon grabbed it, and when he looked up, the prince's tawny eyes were burning brighter than ever, dancing with the candle light. 

“Don't say anything more...” He whispered, licking his lips. “And don't do anything more until we are in our room” He added, bringing Marco's knuckles to his lips and leaving open mouth kisses on them, his eyes fixed on his slave like a predator's on his prey. “Or else I won't be able to hold back”

Jean's voice was so low and suave it sent a pleasant shiver of excitement down Marco's spine. And how he said they should go back to _'their'_ room... The way if affected him was so different from the way Jean's eyes on him made him feel; softer, warmer than the raw lust he felt whenever Jean looked at him so hungrily. But it still greatly added to the excitement he was already feeling.

The brunette gulped, then nodded eagerly. He squeezed Jean's hand and helped him up with probably too much force, though it was welcomed with a deep groan from Jean's part. “Let's waste no time then and go” He breathed, his heart rate already increasing drastically. 

Jean blew the candle's flickering flame and the library fell dark, only lit by the moonlight that guided the lover's steps as they quietly rushed towards the princely bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this cliffhanger but you will have to wait for next chapter to see Marco and Jean finally become one :')
> 
> And also, we may finally find out who tried to assassinate Jean, who knows.... Are you still wondering who it is or are you a super detective? XD
> 
> See you next time to find out! :)


	17. As hard as Min

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> Sorry again for the cliffhanger of last time, and sorry for the delay of this chapter too. I started a new job and I am super busy. But don't worry, I don't intend on stopping the fic or anything, but expect updates every months more than every 2-3 weeks now.
> 
> This chapter, Marco and Jean finally make love, and let's say it ended up longer than expected soo the chapter doesn't contain much plot advancement. I hope it will still be fine for people who don't like reading nsfw part...
> 
> Anyways, I hope you will enjoy this chapter, as always, I did my best and I hope it will satisfy you. ^^

When they entered Jean's dark bedroom, Marco was out of breath. The warmth of Jean's hand in his was almost burning him so much he was aware of any physical contact with the prince. He craved to touch Jean, to hear the shifting in his breath as he discovered the most sensitive parts of him, the paths his fingers had to take to make his muscles tense or relax...  
But now that the heat and confidence he had back in the library was gone, thanks to the short but still too long trip to Jean's room, Marco was at loss. He didn't know where to start and suddenly found himself shy; unable to make a first move, or any move whatsoever.

If Jean often wasn't subtle, one thing he was was observing, and he quickly noticed Marco's access of what he thought was hesitation as well as a hint of fear and modesty. He gently squeezed his lover's hand, the act almost making Marco start before he swiftly looked up. The look in those deep brown eyes gave Jean a pang, for there, he found an uncertainty comparable to the anxiety of a gazelle on the alert, frozen on the spot by the fear of a nearby predator.   
Jean didn't like it. He didn't want to be the predator; never did he want to scare Marco again like he did back in the slave's first days in Egypt.

“If you changed your mind Marco, I won't be angry” He gently whispered, his voice still trembling from the guilt he felt for putting such a distressed look in Marco's beautiful eyes. “I don't expect anything of you if you are not ready. And I would never leave you or blame you for it.”

Marco looked down, his cheeks flushing. He was conflicted between wanting to smile and wanting to cry. Jean's words of acceptance touched him deep in his heart. But he still wanted this, he was sure of it.

“No, I-” He started before his teeth came to worry at his lower lip. “I just don't know where to start and... I am afraid I might do something wrong. You're so much more experienced than me and I'm afraid I won't be good enough” He confessed, refusing to look Jean in the eyes as he opened his heart to him, making himself more vulnerable than ever. With one word Jean could break him in this state.

But the prince's hands were now trained to handle fragile objects, and they didn't shatter things as much as they used to.

“Marco” Jean almost whined, glad that his lover would share his insecurities, but sad he felt that way. “Like I said, I don't expect anything of you. There is no minimal required performance or anything.” The blond gently tilted the brunette's head up with two careful fingers on his chin so their eyes met again. “You are special. I love you, and I would never dare comparing you to anyone else. I couldn't insult you like that, because you are so much more than anyone else ever was.”

Jean pressed his forehead against Marco's and the brunette closed his eyes, letting out a loud, strained sigh. “With you, I know it will be wonderful, no matter how experienced or not you are.” The prince continued, his thumb soothingly stroking the back of his lover's hand. “We just have to tell each other what feels good and see where it goes from there”

For someone sometimes clumsy with expressing his emotions, Marco felt Jean's choice of words incredibly reassuring and his view on things comforting, so he relaxed into the prince's simple touches.   
This was supposed to be a pleasant moment, so he had to cast all interrogations and thoughts aside to only focus on Jean; on them, and get lost into the connection they shared until nothing else mattered.  
And Jean had the best of ideas to initiate the process. 

“I really want to kiss you Marco. May I?” The prince asked, his eyes glinting with a hint of hunger as they fell onto the brunette's lips.

To have Jean ask for permission sent a shiver of excitement down Marco's spine and made his heart skip a beat. Far away was the prince that would have greedily taken without asking just because Marco was a slave and that slaves weren't real people.  
Marco was so proud of Jean, his Jean, and he nodded, his eagerness from the library slowly coming back, like a dying fire who was fed new dry wood.

Jean's lips were soft on his, a contrast to Marco's often shafted ones, betraying the differences in their lifestyles. But the prince still let out a satisfied groan as he wickedly ran his tongue across the brunette's lips, a silent demand for Marco to part his lips, to which the brunette happily complied.  
Jean's tongue slipped inside Marco's mouth, easily, and the familiar feeling of kissing Jean helped him relax even further.

Jean's hands gently found their way to Marco's sides, and he ran his fingers in feather touches alongside his lover's ribcage, causing Marco's breath to catch in his throat. The prince's hands were soft, often oiled and creamed when Marco's were tough and rough, almost dry, making the brunette hesitant to reciprocate the nice treatment, in fear his touch would be unpleasant.

But Jean definitely saw things differently.

The blond broke the kiss, and his eyes immediately fell on Marco's arms which were rigidly stuck at his sides. Jean frowned; he wanted those big strong hands on him. Badly. So he took the matter into his own hands and led Marco's hands to his torso, gently placing them over his pectorals, all the while holding his lover's gaze with lust filled eyes.

“I like it when you touch me” He breathed and guided Marco's hands down on his chest, then on his sides before he led them up again.

Marco's breathing grew heavier as Jean repeated the movement several times. He could feel the prince's strong heartbeat every time his right hand was guided back over Jean's chest and knowing it was as loud as his own made his excitement grow impossibly.  
Jean's muscles tensed with every one of Marco's guided caresses and the brunette marvelled at how warm Jean's skin was, as burning as his tawny gaze on him.

Soon, Jean freed Marco's hands, leaving them to rest on his waist as his own hands came to the front tie of his Shendyt.  
His eyes never leaving Marco's, the prince slowly undid the tight knot before unwrapping the fabric from his hips and tossing it aside with a sensual movement of his wrist.

Marco watched mesmerized and gulped when Jean's underwear were discarded too.   
It wasn't the first time he saw the prince naked of course, but however, it was the first time he got to see him hard. Jean's member was different from his, uncut, for Hebrew traditions weren't shared with Egyptian ones. His tip was flushed and already glistening, and Marco absent-mindedly licked his dry lips. To think it was his touches that put Jean in such a state of arousal made his head spin. It was the physical proof that Jean wanted him as much as he wanted the prince. He felt his own member twitch in the uncomfortable tightness of his clothes, betraying his own need.

Shyly, Marco let one trembling hand move down to Jean's thigh, slowly stroking the skin there with his thumb. Jean let out a long, heavy sigh and when Marco looked up, he was met with blazing eyes that gave him the silent permission to touch the place his hand was so close to.

The brunette took a steadying breath before he carefully wrapped his hand around Jean's base, like he would with himself, holding firmly but not too tightly. Jean moaned and he put a hand on Marco's shoulder to steady himself. He wasn't usually so sensitive but the fact that it was Marco touching him made his head spin and his heart beat faster.

The brunette started a slow rhythm with his hand, stroking Jean's shaft up and down, attentive to any shift in his breath, to any sound the prince's made so he could find out what his lover liked. After one particularly good twist of Marco's wrist, Jean's eyes fluttered close and his head dropped onto Marco's shoulder, his lips finding the skin there and peppering it with hungry opened mouth kisses.

As Jean's breathing grew heavier and heavier, Marco's face flushed. He couldn't believe the situation he was in. He was giving Jean pleasure. He was taking care of him so intimately it made the prince shiver. He was the one taking all those pretty sounds out of Jean's lips.   
Marco's face was burning and his head was a hot blank mess of too much thoughts and not enough coherence. But in the end he could see nothing but Jean; the way the blond started thrusting his hips into the tight ring of his fingers, how his kisses became biting as louder moans betrayed how close he was getting. Marco feared he might embarrass himself and come in his underwear if he was given to witness the orgasm he would coax out of Jean.

But then Jean's hand suddenly gripped his wrist, stopping the movement of his hand. Jean looked up and Marco looked back at him with confusion.

“I never expected to come so close just from this” The blond chuckled between ragged breaths, and knowing his skills weren't so bad, that he almost made Jean loose his mind, flattered Marco's ego, boosting his confidence and sending warmth through his chest. 

“Don't want to finish like that” Jean whispered before leaving a small peck on Marco's lips. “Let's move to the bed”

Marco nodded and soon he was pushed onto the bed on his back, blinking in surprise by how much excitement was duplicating Jean's strength. The prince crawled over him in a sultry way that shouldn't be allowed before he helped him remove his Shendyt as well as his underwear.  
As soon as there were no more barriers between their bare skin, Jean pressed himself flush against Marco, capturing his lips in a heated, mind-blowing kiss. The prince's hands roamed Marco's body, with such eagerness and need and turned Marco's mind into a messy blur of hot need and affection for Jean who was everywhere; with his lips, his long fingers and-

“ _Ah!_ ”

Marco gasped, his back arching off the bed when a tentative grind of Jean's hips made their arousals brush together in the sweetest of friction. His mind short-circuited and his instinct took over, his hips moving on their own to meet Jean's grinding and seek the blinding pleasure coming from it.   
With his eyes closed, it was like every stimulation of his burning skin was heightened, the waves of arousal shooting through him sharp and hot.   
Marco's shyness was chased away by Jean's eagerness, and the carnal desire for Jean's body spurred his hands to finally move. He hastily ran them down his prince's back, relieving in the way it made Jean moan against his lips, then daringly took hold of his blond lover's bony ass, kneading the tender flesh there. It was such a nice feeling to touch this part of Jean, and with this grip on him, Marco could also force the prince's hips down on his with more force, the increased friction making his breathing ragged.

With one last dirty kiss left on the brunette's lips, Jean pulled away, smirking as his chest heaved, his breathing hard from too much kissing. 

“Well, it seems someone is pretty eager tonight” Jean chuckled, emphasizing his words with a sharp thrust of his hips. 

Marco let out a small whimper. He was already embarrassingly hard, and his body screamed for him to just grind against Jean until he found his sweet release.   
But blinking, he tried to clear his head, remembering what he had planned for tonight. It was admittedly hard to have coherent thoughts when every inch of Jean's gorgeous naked body was pressed against his, and when the prince was watching him with hungry eyes that held just the right amount of tenderness too.

“So...” Jean straightened up slightly, one of his hands gently stroking Marco's chest, where his heart was beating fast. “Are you aware of what these sinful offers you are tempting me imply between men?”

Jean's tone was joking, but his eyes showed he still feared Marco's ignorance, for it could cause a possible refusal when he would be informed of what he got himself into. But Marco, despite his inexperience wasn't that innocent; or more like he had much less innocent friends who took it upon themselves to quickly educate him...

“I heard o-one's... manliness goes into another man's... behind” Marco stuttered, carefully chosing his words, feeling his face flush hot. Saying it was even more embarrassing than the prospect of doing it.

Jean's clear laugh echoed in the room, full of pure amusement, without a hint of mockery but tainted with a lot of relief. “Such a polite way to phrase it!” He commented before he met Marco's eyes again, suddenly more serious. “And are you willing to do this with me?” He asked, one of his hands coming to cup Marco's freckled cheek, his thumb stroking the tanned skin there.

Marco nodded. “I am” His voice held no more hesitation when he agreed. “I want you so much” He added biting his lower lip, his blush darkening even further. “But I am not sure how to do this properly... The last thing I want is to... disappoint you” The young slave closed his eyes, nuzzling into the reassuring warmth of Jean's palm.

Jean's heart skipped a beat in his chest at Marco's words and he leaned down to kiss his lover's insecurities away. The kiss was short but oh so tender, and when Jean pulled away, Marco allowed his eyes to open again. “I will guide you.” The prince simply promised, his smile so soft it made Marco's heart swell in his chest.  
In the prince's head, it was certain Marco wouldn't 'disappoint' him as he said. He waited for this far too long, and already knew it would be special with the brunette; different, but in a good way. Jean was determined to make Marco's first time a night to remember; in the best of ways of course.

Another peck on his slave's lips and Jean straightened up, shifting under Marco's curious gaze so he could grab something from the bedside table.

“You see my dear Marco, us men don't possess the natural lubrication of women” Jean explained with a light tone that made Marco just as embarrassed as he was amused, forgetting his aching need for a second. “So we have to make sure to use a lot of oil” Jean's voice dropped low at the end of his sentence and Marco shivered before he suddenly trembled, a gasp escaping his parted lips.  
Jean just wrapped his oil covered fingers around both their arousals, and squeezed just lightly, sending an agonizing rush of insufficient pleasure through Marco's body. The light fragrance of the herbs composing the oil filled the brunette's nostrils, rendering him dizzy, the smell mixing with the his lover's touch and making it hard to think coherently.

Sadly Jean's delicious grip on them was gone after a few short strokes that served to coat both their needs in the makeshift lubricant. Marco whined at the loss and Jean chuckled. “Don't worry, there is much better coming up”

Marco groaned. His body was aching for more right now. But any form of protest or manifestation of impatience vanished right when he saw Jean's hand disappear between his thighs and reaching behind himself. The prince's tawny eyes widened slightly, his pupils blown wide, his lips parted on a short breath and the sight had Marco's brain stop functioning.  
The brunette could easily guess what just happened, but the thought that Jean just entered himself with one of his fingers caused a deep moan to rumble in his chest. Jean seemed to be enjoying the new intrusion, his hips shifting eagerly to adjust to it while he kept his intense tawny gaze on Marco, trapping him with it.  
Marco could only watch, his breathing increasing just as much as Jean's as the prince fingered himself, his slim chest flushed and his erection standing up proudly between his nice thighs.   
The brunette had trouble realizing what was happening. He never expected to find himself in this situation, and yet there he was, sharing the bed of none other than the prince of Egypt; the bed of his friend, his lover, the person he came to care for and admire the most.

“You are so beautiful” Marco breathed, enthralled, his fingers shyly running down Jean's thighs. 

Jean's head snapped up and his eyes widened, the hazy veil of lust clouding them lifting in an instant. His cheeks darkened and he bit his lips, barely containing a small whimper as his hips snapped forward.  
Marco recalled Eren telling him Jean loved compliments, but he never expected it to be to this extend. 

Jean shook his head slightly, chasing the too strong rush of arousal threatening to make him go wild. “Y-you are not so bad yourself” He grinned, although still flustered and Marco smiled back, even if he knew he couldn't compare to Jean when it came to beauty. Jean was a refined rare gem, when he was a worthless common rock.

The prince's free hand came to rest over Marco's fingers on his thigh while he resumed preparing himself, adding a second finger to the first inside him. “You don't know how much I've been wanting you” He whispered around a long shaky breath. “I dreamed of this moment more often than is reasonable”

The slow rocking of Jean's hips into his fingers made the prince's erection brush against Marco's in a maddeningly teasing touch. Added to Jean's voice whispering those praises, it sent lightning coursing under Marco's skin. The brunette didn't know how he was going to survive more of this sweet torture.

“You are the beautiful one Marco” Jean squeezed the brunette's hand. “I always wondered how you could be so attractive; I thought it unfair at first, how I couldn't take my eyes away from you...” Jean confessed before a loud moan escaped him. He seemed to really enjoy playing with himself, Marco noted, amazed by the way the blond was moving.

Then Jean's hips came to a halt and his hand, glistening with oil, reappeared. He quickly wiped it clean on the immaculate sheets before placing it on Marco's chest, leaning down so his face was barely inches away from his lover's. “But now I know your secret...” Jean's hand travelled to the left side of Marco's chest, resting just over the place where he could feel his heart thundering in his ribcage. The brunette eyed his lover curiously, trying to find an answer in his deep tawny eyes. Jean smiled. “It is the beauty of your heart, the beauty from inside that shows on the outside and makes you so different. So appealing. I can never even wish to compete with that”

Jean's admiration for him was now clear in his expression and Marco's heart wildly skipped a few beats. Jean's sincere words touched his heart and a rush of fondness as well as a blur of different conflicted emotions filled him. Unable to form the words to answer this amazing praise, Marco chose actions. He gently grabbed the back of Jean's head to pull the prince down into a passionate kiss.  
Their lips danced and their breaths mingled, sharing secret messages between them that words couldn't convey just as strongly. It was a language they both came to understand now, easily, and soon, Marco couldn't take it anymore, grinding his hips up into Jean's, the inexperience making him impatient, his state of arousal becoming unbearable.

Jean groaned approvingly into the kiss, moving his hips in sync with Marco's to create more friction between their needs, and then, his thumb teasingly rubbed against one of Marco's dark nipples. The reaction was strong and immediate; Marco's back arched tightly, his head thrown back, forcing his lips to leave Jean's as he moaned wantonly. The added stimulations on his arousal and his nipple was almost too much and he closed his eyes tightly, trying his best not to embarrass himself with a display of poor stamina.

Jean stopped his grinding and left Marco's chest alone, instead gently caressing his lover's sides to try and help him relax again. Marco took a deep breath and Jean patiently waited for him to regain a semblance of composure, occupying himself by trailing butterfly kisses down the brunette's shoulder.   
When Marco finally opened his eyes again, his tensed muscles agreeing to relax, he immediately spotted Jean's proud smirk and sent the blond a glare (which coming from him looking more like a slightly disapproving glance).

“Sorry Marco” Jean chuckled, placing a noisy wet kiss on the brunette's lips. “I am not mocking you, it is just... I have never seen someone so sensitive there as you are” He proved his point by lightly kissing Marco's other nipple, making the brunette squirm and whine under him as pleasure waves overwhelmed him.   
“Makes me want to tease you all night...” Jean's dark eyes sent a shiver down Marco's spine.   
This idea was tempting, but Marco refused to let himself be bullied like that; he still had a dignity, a male pride that even though not so pronounced could get hurt. So in a momentum of confidence and boldness, Marco brushed his fingers against Jean's straining need and ran his thumb teasingly around the tip, a move that always made him weak in the knees when he did it to himself.

As expected, that move shut Jean up, the blond's thighs trembling as he let out a strange mix of a laugh and a moan. “I see I am not the only one capable of being a tease... You learn fast...” The prince gently took Marco's hand away from his arousal, instead guiding it lower. “Alright, enough teasing” Jean's voice dropped as the end of the sentence, right when he brought Marco's fingers to his oiled up entrance. “See how ready I am for you” He hotly added.

Marco let Jean lead his hand and watched dumbfounded as he tentatively brushed his index finger against Jean's entrance, collecting a few sleek drops of pleasantly scenting oil in the process. Big brown eyes looked up to Jean, silently asking for permission to try taking his finger further. Jean nodded, easily understanding the request and Marco gulped before slipping his single finger inside his lover.

The glide was easier than Marco expected, but what startled him was the heat. Jean was burning around his finger, his insides gripping on the single digit tightly and just imagining this warm embrace around a much more sensitive part of him made Marco whine, his hips giving an excited but aimless thrust. When Jean oh so slowly moved against his finger with a small moan, the young slave had to close his eyes, the sight and feeling of the prince taking him further too much to bear. How was he going to survive what was coming next? The gods would have to help him! 

A soft hand cupped Marco's cheek, coaxing him into looking up into Jean's eyes again. “Too much?” Jean gently asked, stilling. Marco nodded, there was no need to hide how much Jean was getting to him, it was too obvious.   
“Maybe coming once would be wiser before moving onto the next step” Jean suggested and the way he said it so openly and simply made Marco's persistent blush increase.  
The brunette shook his head. “No, I-I'm afraid I will be too exhausted afterwards...” He confessed, slightly ashamed. But with how hard he was, there was no questioning it; his release would be too intense for him to recover quickly enough.

“Then let's move on” Jean smiled softly, not judging in any way, instead accommodating to Marco's needs, to his pace. The prince gently guided Marco's finger out of himself and then shifted to position himself over Marco's need, his weight supported on his knees.

“Ready?” Jean's affectionate eyes softly fell on Marco, their fire burning low for now. 

Marco let out a breath he realized he had been holding and tried to relax. But he was at the same time excited and apprehensive. This moment was everything he dreamed of and he didn't want to mess it. There would only be one first time, and right now he felt glad it would be with Jean. He was sure he could never have found a better teacher, a better lover, a better friend.  
The brunette nodded and to his surprise, his prince leaned down to capture his lips in a short sweet kiss. Marco exhaled deeply, his muscles finally able to relax completely.

“Relax Marco, this isn't a test or anything of the sort” Jean whispered against his lips when he pulled away. “It's about feeling good” The blond peppered his lover's jaw with a few open mouthed kisses. “We have all the time we want to do things however we want...” Marco's eyes fluttered shut as Jean's lips reached his collarbones, his hands needing to touch more of Jean, and so coming to rest on the blond's narrow hips. “So if anything doesn't feel right, just tell me. Tell me how you feel”

Jean straightened up and Marco opened his eyes blearily, feeling light headed from Jean's words and touches. “I love you” The brunette answered and Jean smiled at him again. “And I love you too” The blond replied before he slowly sank onto Marco.

The feeling that filled his whole body wasn't like anything Marco ever experienced.

Jean was tight and hot around him, almost unbearably so; but still, the young slave never wanted to stop, wanted more. It was like the softness of a warm glove was caressing him sensually, gripping him just tight enough to be incredibly pleasant and agonizingly insufficient. His lips parted on a silent breath, his back arching slightly. The brunette did his best to not thrust up into Jean's inviting body, his fingers digging into the thin skin of Jean's hips, bruisingly so.   
As he tentatively looked up, Marco was met with the deep look of concentration on Jean's face. The prince's forehead was slightly sweaty as he put a lot of effort into moving slowly. He looked gorgeous, and the way he unconsciously licked his lips from time to time sent more waves of arousal course through Marco's body.

When he was completely sited on Marco's length, the prince let out a small sigh, one of his palms travelling to Marco's tense stomach, gently coaxing him into relaxing.   
Because the young slave was a mess already. His body felt restless and although he contained himself as not to hurt Jean, he wanted to writhe so badly. His back was still slightly arched off the bed, the pain of his tense muscles lowly burning. He wanted Jean to move so much, but he feared it might be too much for his already scattered brain. His nails dug harder into Jean's hips and the blond winced. The pained sound immediately caused Marco's hands to leave, as if burned.

“Sorry” Marco's voice was strained and unusually low, surprising himself. His face felt hot with embarrassment from being so affected when Jean wasn't even moving. He felt like he was already ruining the moment.

Jean didn't say anything, however he reached for Marco's hands and placed one back on his narrow bruised hip, while he held onto the second, entwining his fingers with his lover's. He brought their joined hands to his lips, softly kissing Marco's knuckles as he supported himself with one arm between Marco's thighs and started slowly grinding his hips down, his eyes locked on Marco, lit with undeniable passion.

Marco was barely accustomed to the feeling of Jean around him when the small movement of his lover's hips send rushes of raw pleasure through him. It was a sensation impossible to compare to anything he ever felt and his lips parted around a small breathless moan, his hand squeezing Jean's tightly.

Another rotating movement of Jean's hips, another moan. The prince bit his lower lip from the effort it was taking him to not just fuck himself on Marco, to seek his pleasure egoistically in a quick and mad rhythm, but also from how affected he was by the sight of the brunette under him.  
Marco's eyes were just barely opened, clouded with a haze of pleasure and want, his breathing coming quick and ragged already, his lips wet from how he kept unconsciously licking them... Jean never felt so strongly about anybody, and usually when he slept with others, he never paid attention to how they looked, how they sounded. He even avoided looking and hearing, often finding his partners ungracious grunts and sweaty forms more a turn off than a turn on. But with Marco it was so different. It was about sharing, not using others to find his own pleasure. And the prince was amazed by how much he loved bringing Marco pleasure.

“Feels so good to have you inside me Marco” Jean breathed, head slightly thrown back as he ground deeper down onto his lover. “Tell me you feel good too” He brought their join hands over his heart, squeezing back.

Marco answered with an abandoned half whine half moan, trying his best to nod his head as his eyes fluttered close from Jean's increasing pace. The prince's voice whispering those filthy praises and at the same time inquiring about his own feelings added to the hot prickling warmth crawling under his skin, almost driving him insane.   
The corner of Jean's lips curved up slightly, full of satisfaction and longing, and the prince started moving up and down, lifting himself from Marco's need before dropping back onto it, slow at first, but still vigorous.

“Ah! Jean!” Marco moaned, his head thrown back onto the pillow, his back arching with raw pleasure and his hips blindly trying to meet the prince's well timed thrusts. “Fe-els.... feels _a-Ah!_ Amazing...” The brunette difficultly breathed, his hand moving from Jean's hip to grip the soft white sheets instead.

The prince groaned appreciatively and continued moving over Marco in a dance the brunette didn't yet know the precise steps to.   
Marco gladly let his lover lead, letting him chose the pace, unable to follow with his own thrusts more than once in a while so much he was overwhelmed by the feeling their joined movements was bringing him. And the sight too...

From this position, Marco could see his arousal showing before it disappeared again into Jean with a regular tempo worthy of a musician; could see the way Jean's own need moved with each thrust, and how it was wet at the end, clear drops pearling on the tip before dripping onto the soft ashen blond hair at the base of it.  
The young slave never imagined what it could be to lie with someone, especially not a man. And he never found the naked body of a human to be particularly appealing, more turned on by the eroticism of imagining the hinted forms behind clothes. But right now, he found Jean beautiful in all his naked glory and loved the way a deep flush extended from his face to his chest as well as the way his movements made him look more alive than ever.  
And let's not forget the noises the blond made. They were exquisite, little moans and breathy gasps uttered in a pitch so different from Jean's usual talking voice. Marco loved discovering this side of Jean that was so far away from the prince's daily public behaviour, and yet so genuine, relaxed, trusting. Jean was truly beautiful like this.

When the brunette thought the view above him couldn't get any more appealing, Jean released Marco's hand which stayed stuck over his heart and let his own hand travel down his chest, teasing one nipple before going down, his slender fingers brushing over his tensed stomach. Marco eagerly followed the path it traced with hypnotised eyes, a deep moan rumbling deep inside his chest as Jean's hand ran over his thigh, his fingers soon dancing at the joining of his hip and thigh, so close to where they were joined.  
The sensuality of Jean's movements short circuited Marco's brain, making him feel dizzy, and his body responded with a sharp thrust of his hips, forcing a loud moan out of Jean's parted lips.

“Mmmh Marco” Jean's hand fisted the sheets behind himself as waves of hot pleasure coursed through him and he dragged his nails against the tender skin of his inner thigh, the slight burn increasing how good he felt. The blond had a particular talent at finding what pleased him, and he didn't hesitated to ask for what he liked. “Just like that, giv-give me more!”

Marco's eyes fell shut and his hips uncontrollably snapped up again under Jean's almost ordering tone. He would gladly give his lover more, especially when his movements caused Jean to tighten around him so blissfully. He moved both of his hands to Jean's hips, holding the prince in place as he started moving his hips up, trying his best to keep a regular pace, but the sensations it brought him were so intense he feared he wouldn't be able to last long.

Especially when Jean kept calling his name between abandoned moaned.

It was as if something had snapped inside the prince; his previously low groans and breaths were now loud moans that Marco was sure would resonate through the whole corridor. He understood now why the entire palace was informed when Jean got laid. But he couldn't bring himself to stop, not when he was the one making Jean lose the control of his pretty voice; not when he was the one the blond called and trusted to take him there.

Not when hearing the ruckus they were making, their heavy breathings and the slap of skin against skin was making his member throb.

Jean seemed very satisfied with Marco's clumsy but enthusiastic thrusting, given how incredibly hard and wet he was.   
“I've been dreaming of this Marco” The blond panted, his voice raw. “touched myself to the thought when you were gone”   
The revelation made Marco whine, his nails digging into Jean's skin. The thought of Jean playing with himself while thinking of him once would have felt dirty, but now it was just incredibly arousing. His vivid imagination pictured the prince all flushed, rutting into his hand with his face hidden in the pillow the brunette used and that smelled like him, trying his best to muffle his moans into it. Marco's whole body tensed with lust and a weird sort of pride at the thought.

Seeing the strong effect his words had on his lover, the way it made his eyes darken and his hips twitch, Jean continued, feeling just as much pleasure uttering those filthy remarks. “But this is so-... so much better than what I imagined” He gulped, swallowing the excess of saliva pooling inside his mouth and making his lips shine. “I love the way you feel, you're filling me up so good!”

Marco's heels dug into the bed as he thrust up harder, spurred on by Jean's filthy praises. He was lost in a sea of pleasure, unable to look away from his beloved prince, loving how much they affected each other, completely enthralled.

“I-I am good to you?” The young slave weakly asked, almost shy as he tentatively mimicked Jean's example, needing to feel the pleasant shivers Jean's voice procured him again. 

Jean's hips were meeting every one of Marco's erratic thrusts now, and he could tell his lover was close. He didn't expect Marco to take part in the dirty talk he liked so much however, and hearing the brunette's almost innocent reply when they were going at it so frantically made his heart skip a beat. He never felt this way during sex, and the fact that it was Marco, the fact that so many emotions were involved in a turmoil that made his chest ache was bringing him close to the end faster than ever.

“Yes!” Jean purred, leaning down to capture Marco's lips in a passionate kiss. “You are so good to me... So much more than I will ever deserve” He whispered against his slave's lips, his voice tainted with raw emotion.

Marco groaned into the kiss, his arms embracing Jean's waist, trying to bring him as close as possible. The intense pleasure of being joined was mixed with so much affection and longing it made him whimper. Marco wanted to tell Jean how much he loved him while he brought him over the edge; wanted to see Jean lose himself because of him and witness the abandoned expression on his face. But now he only felt frustration, for his tired body had trouble keeping up a rhythm satisfying for the both of them. From this position, he couldn't bring them there  
So Marco decided to take initiative, to take the lead, more by instinct than anything. He hugged Jean tightly to his chest and rolled them over in a swift motion.

Jean yelped from surprise but was quick to adjust, wrapping his legs around Marco's waist as soon as he was on his back, and circling his arms around his lover's neck.

“Looks like I am no longer in charge here” Jean's small chuckle was strained and his burning eyes held a hint of amusement. 

Being so close to Jean was what Marco wanted. He wanted to be able to discern every single change in his prince's face as he moved inside him, and he wanted to hold him close, and to never let him go. So he did.

Marco supported himself on one elbow as he entered Jean again, his fingers threading into his lover's messy ashen blond hair while his other hand held onto Jean's waist.  
Thrusting from this position came to be a lot easier, and Marco also liked the closeness it brought. It was the position of lovers, and not only of carnal satisfaction. 

Jean's voice grew loud again, moans and praises escaping him in a swarm of pretty sounds. The prince let Marco take care of him, trusting his lover to bring him to completion and marvelling at how good Marco looked over him, with his hair a mess and his lips swollen, his eyes shining with wetness from intense pleasure. Those deep brown eyes were on him, focused on him only, like he was the only thing that mattered in the world. He never felt so desired in his entire existence.

“Touch me Marco” Jean begged, his heart pounding in his chest as he felt his release get close. He could tell Marco was almost there too from the way his thrusting became erratic and his arms were trembling.

With a low moan the young slave complied, reaching down to stroke Jean's leaking arousal. His pace wasn't perfect but he put all his heart into it, and it was enough.

“Marco!” Jean's voice pitched high and his nails dug into Marco's back, leaving red crescents behind as a mark of his passion; He was almost there. But so was Marco.

“J-Jean... I c-can't anymore” The brunette stuttered, almost hyperventilating from the effort of keeping his own release at bay and focus on Jean's pleasure first. His thrusting was anarchic and hard and it hit Jean so deep it made the blond's back arch tightly.

Jean brought Marco down for a quick messy kiss. “Come for me love, d-don't hold back” He let one of his hands fall down to cover Marco's on his flushed arousal, guiding his movements so they would both find their end. “Make me yours Marco”

That was it. With one last thrust and a silent whimper, Marco came deep inside Jean, burying himself into the prince's tight heat as he buried his face into the blond's shoulder, his eyes shut tightly, a single fat tear of emotion rolling down his freckled cheek.   
A cloud of hazy pleasure fogged the young slave's mind and his hips unconsciously kept grinding deep into Jean as he rode his height, nuzzling into the comforting scent of his lover's warm skin.  
The brainless movements of Marco's hips hit Jean in the best of ways and with Marco's name on his lips he came, emptying himself into his and his lover's joined hands.   
The sudden tightening of Jean's heat around him made Marco whine, prolonging his height, and he snuggled up closer to Jean, his hands pawing at every inch of skin he could find, whether hips or waist.

Jean relaxed, letting the warm waves of release wash over him. He felt like he was floating in a space without time. He was familiar with the feeling, but he it usually never lasted this long. Usually reality came to hit him quick, making him want to push away the person he lay with. But this time it was different, for reality was as pleasant as the moment he just lived. There was no rush to separate from the body on top of him, no urgent need to clean himself or go to sleep, because he felt comfortable with the person he now shared his bed with, and he never wanted him to leave. 

But after a few minutes, Marco's weight, as satisfying as it felt over him, still started to hinder Jean's breathing. Marco's breathing was beginning to even and grow deeper, and the prince feared the brunette had fallen asleep inside him which would probably lead to a rather uncomfortable night. For Marco's sake, he was ready to endure it; and he wouldn't blame Marco for falling asleep so quickly. But he still tried his luck at bringing his lover back to consciousness.

Jean gently stroked Marco's strong back with one hand while the other petted his lover's dark hair, trying to coax him into coming back to reality. However his affectionate gestures were only met with a long sigh. Craning his neck, Jean realized Marco's eyes were closed. He tried tentatively calling the brunette's name, only earning himself a deep hum that resounded from Marco's chest to his.

“Marco” Jean tried again, softly. 

Marco slowly looked up to Jean's face with a small grunt, blinking with difficulty, his eyes bleary.

“Wow... I think I … was gone for a second there” He slowly whispered, finding it difficult to form coherent sentences. His head felt light and fluffy, and he didn't know how long he stayed face pressed into Jean's shoulder.   
The whole post orgasmic experience felt like a breach in time for him, where he had been floating in warmth, his body completely relaxed and his mind elsewhere, almost gone, his whole being feeling at bliss for an amount of time he couldn't evaluate. It felt like an eternity, but it could have been mere minutes.  
But what was sure was that he never felt so incredibly good in his whole life. Now nestled in Jean's arms, he felt complete, like something missing in him; a need, a craving he didn't know about, had finally been sated.

Jean chuckled as Marco not so delicately nuzzled his face in his neck, absent-mindedly peppering the skin there with noisy butterfly kisses, his mind still fuzzy. The brunette was definitely a post-coital cuddler. An intense one.   
Marco pressed against his lover, shamelessly, greedily leeching the human contact as well as the small amount of heat Jean's lithe body produced. 

“What are you? A leech?” Jean teased, but he still left a kiss on Marco's forehead, showing he wasn't bothered by the treatment he was receiving in the least.   
It felt so right to be in Marco's arms that he wondered how he could have gone so many years in the arms of people he didn't love. It almost felt wrong now; felt like he had wronged Marco in some way even before he knew him.  
But Jean quickly pushed those stupid thoughts aside to instead enjoy this marvellous moment shared between him and his lover and that was given so nicely given to them by the gods.

Marco's only answer to the prince's teasing was a low groan and a sleepy “Maybe” mumbled between sloppy kisses of Jean's still flushed lips, not offended in the least by the rather unappealing comparison.  
As he enthusiastically kissed Jean, Marco found out his inhibitions seemed to have disappeared in the well-being hue tainting him. He who was usually shy with showing his affection; hesitant to touch, to feel, was now grabby. But not in a needy way, his touches more worshipping, affectionate.  
One of his thumbs stroked Jean's cheek as they kissed while the fingers of his left hand drew arabesques on the unusual canvas that was the thin skin of Jean's hip.   
They kept kissing for a while, content with the feeling of each other's lips, their bodies still glued together. But at some point, Marco's hips shifted only slightly, causing Jean to wince between their joined lips. Marco immediately pulled back, alarmed he hurt his lover.

“Are you okay?” 

“I'm fine” Jean quickly answered but his temples were still a bit sweaty from the discomfort Marco's movement had caused. Indeed, the young slave was still resting inside his prince, and the snap of his hips caused Jean a spark of painful pulling. “But if you could get out and also off of me, I would probably feel even better”

Jean didn't intend to sound like he was pushing Marco away, but the brunette's kicked puppy eyes told him that was how his words were interpreted.  
The young slave quickly executed himself, carefully sliding his now limp member out of Jean with a wince of his own before flopping onto the mattress on his back next to the prince, keeping a respectful distance.

“I didn't tell you to go so far” Jean half-groaned half-purred as he rolled onto his side and dragged Marco closer, taking the brunette in his arms again.

Their legs easily tangled, fingers found hips and hair, slow caresses were exchanged and Marco sighed contently, relieved. For at some point he almost believed Jean would push him away now that they had both reached completion. He knew his prince's wasn't particularly found of cuddling, when on his side, Marco felt like he needed it; so he was sure there was emotion linked to what they did, so he wasn't alone after such an intense experience, so he wouldn't crumble and cry over how lonely he was without Jean.

A comfortable silence filled the room, only slightly disturbed by now calm and steady breathings, as well as random shifting of legs or arms, rustling the already wrinkled sheets. And just as Marco felt himself drift into sleep, Jean's voice was heard.

“Was it good?” The prince inquired, already wanting to punch himself the second he asked the question he hated to hear when addressed to him.  
But Marco was so important to him that he needed his opinion. He was confident with his skill, but what they shared was so much more than raw pleasure, and the blond wanted to make sure he made his feelings clear and made his novice lover's first experience memorable.

Marco's sleepy eyes widened slightly before his gaze softened. He was touched by the sudden uncertainty of Jean's voice and glad the prince cared about how he felt.

“It was amazing” He didn't hesitate to answer, an honest smile adorning his lips. “I am glad I shared my first time with you. I wouldn't have had it any other way.” His cheeks flushed and his eyes slightly watered from emotion, giving them a glint that could soon be found in Jean's own gaze too.

“I hope I wasn't too bad at this” It was Marco's turn to share his insecurities.

Jean's hand cupped the back of the brunette's head, his thumb gently stroking the nape of his neck as he inched closer. “I love you” He placed a tender kiss on his lover's lips.

“And I love you” Marco softly replied as they parted.

They needn't say more.

–--------

Marco's arms tightened around the form in his arms, preventing it from escaping. Jean kept shifting in his hold, his incessant movements slowly bringing his young slave back from the dream realm.  
Marco's brows furrowed in his sleep as Jean lowly called his name. He didn't want to wake up just yet. He felt too warm and comfortable and he didn't want to lose the feeling.  
But the brunette's chase for blissful sleep was vain and he soon opened a bleary eye to check on Jean.

Why did his lover want to get up so soon? 

Marco rapidly got the answer as he realized the sun was already high in the sky. It was already morning, or even noon.  
The young slave buried his face in Jean shoulder from where he ended up spooning him at some point in the night, trying to protect his sleepy eyes from the burning sunlight with a groan.

“Marco we need to get up” Jean craned his neck to try and get a look at his lover's face. But all he could see was a mass of dark messy hair. He couldn't help but smile at the sight, love aching in his chest.

“Why?” Marco's raw voice was muffled by Jean's shoulder and the prince was amused to see he wasn't the childish and irresponsible one for once.

“Because we can't stay in bed all day, as pleasant as it would be.” Jean replied with a small chuckle. 

They both had things to do, places to be... They sadly couldn't stay in their shared bubble forever, and worse, as always, they would have to keep away from each other in public.   
The prospect of having to make an effort tired Marco's already exhausted body and he whined.

“Come on Marco” Jean encouraged him, his fingers gently running through his lover's messy locks. “I really need to clean myself. We didn't do it last night and now I feel really gross”

Marco looked up from his hide, blinking before his eyes curiously fell onto Jean's behind. There, he easily spotted the evidence of their lovemaking, dry now, soiling Jean's inner thighs. A burning rush of embarrassment made Marco's face turn bright red and he detached himself from Jean in a second.

“I-I'm sorry Jean, I'l- I'll get something to clean you” He stuttered almost guiltily as he got up, probably too quickly given the tired state of his body, his legs almost giving up under his weight. 

But the young slave still rushed on wobbly legs to the corner of the room and fetched a damp cloth. Jean watched him with wide eyes, baffled, but also amused. Marco's unsteady steps looked like one of a baby gazelle. To see someone his size walk so clumsily was hilarious, and also adorable.

As Jean contemplated how lucky he was to have found such a great lover, Marco came back from his expedition and flopped onto the bed, handing Jean the cloth. The prince appreciated his slave's enthusiasm but he still put the cloth aside on the bedside table.

“Thank you Marco but I don't think this would suffice to make me feel clean” The brunette's face dropped, giving Jean a pang. But the prince quickly chased it away with a quick but tender kiss on the brunette's lips.

“It would be better if we both took a bath” Jean decided, entwining his fingers with Marco's.

–---------

Their shared bath ended up taking hours. They stayed in, talking about nothing and everything, sometimes actively chatting, the rest of the time just relishing in the presence of each other, until the water turned cold.

When they were dried, clothed and fresh clean, the time to part came.   
Jean was awaited by his history professor and he refused to skip his lesson, wanting to stay true to his decision of not taking studies too lightly anymore. Marco couldn't object too much, for he knew it was the best decision, and he was the one who kept encouraging his prince in that direction in the first place.  
However, letting Jean go, even for a few hours turned out harder than expected for Marco after what they shared the previous night. He trapped Jean into a sloppy make-out session just before exiting the still steamy bathroom, gently pressing the blond against a wall and refusing to let him go, or even to let him breath for a while, trying to convey the emotions burning inside him as well as he could through breathy kisses and heavy petting.

Jean groaned and moaned at Marco's enthusiasm, whispering he liked it when Marco was engaging him like this. But he also felt the need for reassurance in Marco's actions and as he coaxed the brunette into letting him go, he promised they would see each other soon and spend the night together again; not only this night, but every single one following.  
Marco, even if he wasn't completely satisfied with this arrangement, was reasoned by it. 

They exited the bathroom and he let Jean go: bid him “good lesson” and watched his prince disappear behind a heavy wooden door.

 

As he stood alone in the middle of the empty corridor, the young slave thought he would soon feel lonely, or sad, or empty. But he didn't even have the time to sight in longing before he heard hurried footsteps resonate between the marble walls of the corridor he was aimlessly standing in. The gods enjoyed playing with this pure being and wouldn't let him have peace so easily.

“Marco Bodt!” A slightly familiar voice called out to him, and Marco turned around immediately.

His eyes widened as he was met with the sight of a running, dishevelled and out of breath Marlowe. He didn't have time to ask what was happening either that the falconer stopped in front of him, panting heavily, a look of panic on his abnormally pale face.

“You need to come quickly! They are arresting him! The culprit!”

Who was arresting who wasn't asked, details could wait until seen. Marlowe didn't need to repeat himself; in a second, Marco was running by his side, spurred into movement by the news, his mind alert and alarmed as he followed him toward the place where they would finally find answers.

In a second, the lover's bubble had popped. The time of love, the time of peace was already gone, its ephemeral beauty shattered by the unforgiving weight of real life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger again, I am so soory OTL. But I prefered cutting here than making you wait any longer.
> 
> There were so many emotions I wanted to convey in this love scene. I wanted to make it pure but also sexy... idk. I hope it didn't feel weird :'). Please tell me what you thought about it! I put a lot of efforts into this and I hope I did justice to the boys...
> 
> PS: You should check out the what "Min" the Egyptian god of fertility after whom the chapter is named looks like. He had a very... interesting representation XD
> 
> PS2: I'll do my best so the next chapter will be posted in december (the 25th, the fic will be one year old btw :'). Times flows by so quickly...), but I'll also be taking part in the [JM gift exchange event](http://jmgiftexchange.tumblr.com/) for christmas so maybe there will be a small delay again, sorry...
> 
> But I'll see you next chapter with the awaited reveal of the culprit. Who tried to kill Jean? You'll find out soon (probably XD)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Comments are always appreciated so if you have something to say, don't hesitate.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr : [here](http://hydrangeapartridge.tumblr.com/)


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